


Can't Escape My Biology

by stratumgermanitivum, whiskeyandspite



Series: Kinkmeme Story Prompts [26]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Biologically Dominant, Biologically Submissive, Blindfolds, Bondage, But he actually can't, Catharsis, Collars, Crying, Desperation Play, Edging, Establishing Relationship, Fondling, Forced Softness, Groping, Hannibal is a manipulative butthead, Humiliation, Intimacy, M/M, Non-con tag for forced submission in the beginning, Obedience, Peg on tongue punishment, Power Imbalance, Punishment, Rope Bondage, SSC BDSM, Spreader Bars, Wetting, Will Graham Has Encephalitis, Will can take care of himself, Withdrawal, dom!hannibal, emotional walls, light watersports, lying, maintenance spanking, no actual rape in story, sub!Will, unconventional therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:40:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 52,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26002048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stratumgermanitivum/pseuds/stratumgermanitivum, https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeyandspite/pseuds/whiskeyandspite
Summary: In a world where everyone is biologically dominant or submissive, everyone needs to perform their dynamic or they will go insane. Literally. It is unhealthy for submissives not to have a Dominant, and for a Dominant to not have someone to care for. Those unable to date, or still seeking a partner, can come to private therapists or clinics where they can express themselves in a safe and controlled environment. Will Graham - a submissive - is sent for treatment by his boss; Will hasn't had a Dominant in years and his nerves are starting to fray. He doesn't sleep, can't eat well, loses his temper, and is close to losing his mind.So he goes.Not that he's happy about it.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: Kinkmeme Story Prompts [26]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1575217
Comments: 660
Kudos: 1147
Collections: Hannigram Kinkmeme





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [exarite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/exarite/gifts).



> We've gone and dived right into this trope :D Check out notes at the bottom for more info. 
> 
> The non-con tag is there ONLY BECAUSE Hannibal forces Will into submission until he does it on his own; **there is NO RAPE in this story** between the mains or anyone else, but there is a huge breach of bodily autonony so we wanted to be careful and tag for it.
> 
> THANK YOU ESSA FOR YOUR AMAZING PROMPTS ALL OVER THE KINKMEME THAT INSPIRED THIS.

“On your intake form you said you don’t have a Dominant of your own, is that still the case?”

Will glared across the table at Jack, arms folded over his middle, fingers tapping relentlessly against his sleeve. He really didn’t need this right now. He didn’t need it at all, in fact, not ever. But here he was again, in Jack’s office, called up for his ‘attitude problem’.

Will didn’t have an attitude problem, he had a problem with idiots. And there were far too many in his classes of late. Wasn’t it his job to teach? Wasn’t it his job to guide students from their naive little corner in their minds and into the real world?

“Will?”

“No, I don’t have a Dominant,” Will replied tersely. “I hardly see why that matters.”

“It matters because you’ve been in my office more times this month, when you’re not on a case, than when you are on one. You’re getting out of control, Will, you need to calm down.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re scaring the new recruits.”

“That’s their problem.”

“No, Will,” Jack sighed, rubbing his eyes. “It’s my problem. Why? Because you’re my employee, you’re my agent, and insubordination reflects badly on me and the entire Bureau. I’m putting you on mandatory leave for a month, and sending you to a specialist.”

“A  _ specialist, _ ” Will said flatly. 

“The Bureau keeps in touch with a few, for the health and safety of our staff.”

Will knew that. It was listed in his benefits package, very matter-of-fact. Surrogate Doms and subs, professional psychologists whose job it was to make sure no one was suffering from dynamic-withdrawal just because they didn’t have time to date. 

Still, Will bristled at the thought. He hadn’t submitted in two years and he was doing just  _ fine _ , thank you. He was immune to submission-withdrawal. He wasn’t suffering from a lack of Domination, he was suffering from being surrounded by  _ people _ .  _ Stupid _ people. 

“If you have a service you’d prefer to call instead, that’s fine too,” Jack encouraged. He was giving Will that look again, the one they all gave him when they realized he didn’t see a surrogate regularly, that slightly-pitying, slightly-wary look. 

“I know my rights, Jack,” Will said. “You can’t  _ force _ me to see a specialist.”

“I can’t,” Jack agreed. “But I can’t work with you when you’re like this, Will. Zeller’s threatening to quit.”

“Zeller won’t quit.”

“I know that,” Jack said, slamming his hand down against his desk. “But that doesn’t mean I want to field his complaints about you all damn day. You can see a specialist, or not, but you can’t come back to work until you get that attitude of yours in check. I’d say the same thing to any Dom I caught getting demanding and irritable, and I have.”

Will opened his mouth to argue but a look from Jack was enough to silence him again. It was useless. Jack was as stubborn as Will was, and unfortunately for him he was also Will’s boss. He had the power and the legal right to keep Will from his job if he didn’t comply with his orders, and no board would even look at Will’s complaint when Jack hadn’t overstepped any bounds.

Will puffed a breath through his nose and shrugged. “I don’t have a  _ service _ I prefer to call,” he muttered. Jack nodded, opening a desk drawer and pulling out a few cards that he handed to Will. Will didn’t take them so Jack let them fall to the desk.

“You are grounded until you’ve seen someone,” Jack told him, “and out of the field until you have a signed letter from a Dom allowing you back.”

“What about my classes?”

“We have someone to cover you,” Jack replied, giving Will a hard stare. “I’m not going to fire you, you’re one of my best even if you’re a right asshole about it. But I’m not letting you back in here until you’ve sorted yourself out. How long that takes you is entirely your decision, Will. You can go.”

Will went. It was hard not to feel a bit persecuted, even though he was far from the first person to be referred to a specialist. Knowing Jack, he absolutely would have done the same if Will had been a Dom, despite the fact that this was just Will’s personality.

He was grumpy, irritable, he didn’t like people. No wonder he snapped so often.

It wasn’t withdrawal. Will didn’t need to submit. He’d learned his lesson. 

Will had half a mind to forge a note and just be  _ extra _ careful with his tone from now on, but Jack would probably look into it. He wanted Will ‘sorted out,’ whatever that meant. 

So Will would get sorted out. He’d find someone to put him in a corner for 34 minutes, one for every year of his age, and make his insurance pay for it. Then, they could put this all behind them, and never speak of it again. 

* * *

Doctor Hannibal Lecter didn’t have a secretary. He answered the phone himself, in a warm, welcoming tone. He knew about Will already; Jack had called to warn him. He would be available on Wednesday at five, and Will was to wear ‘something comfortable.’

He wasn’t  _ too _ domineering over the phone, nothing Will couldn't ignore, instincts be damned. But he’d caught the hint of command there, impossible to hide. This was a  _ premium _ Dominant, the sort who could bring even other Doms to their knees, the kind of person who could command as easily as breathing. Will’d met a few in his time. They were all self-absorbed assholes. 

Doctor Lecter certainly dressed like one. His three-piece suit had at least four patterns on it, between the tie and pocket square and suit lining. Will had come dressed in distressed jeans and a shirt with a hole at the collar.

Will had arrived a few minutes late because one of his dogs had decided to hack up a half eaten sock as he was on his way out. The Dominant wasn’t pleased with that excuse.

“I expect my clients to be on time,” he said as he held the door open for Will to step into his office. “A schedule and prompt timekeeping are essential for a submissive to feel secure.”

Will snorted, he couldn’t help it. He still remembered that bullshit from school, when puberty hit and most people started to figure out if they presented as Dominant or submissive. He remembered the lectures on routines, on subservience, on how it was supposed to bring submissives absolute mind numbing bliss. It never had for Will. Similar to endorphins people claimed to get from running marathons. It felt nice to be dominated once in a while, sure, but other than that? Will didn’t believe in it.

“I also expect them to dress appropriately for a session,” the Doctor added, giving Will a once-over. Will shrugged.

“You told me to be comfortable.”

“But not to arrive looking like a delinquent,” Hannibal replied pointedly. Then he sighed, shoulders straightening as he closed the door and officially started their session for the evening.

He took a seat at his desk, and gestured for Will to sit opposite him. Will knew the positioning was supposed to make him feel small, make him yearn for a guiding hand. He let his eyes wander over the expansive office until the sound of a piece of paper drew his attention back to Doctor Lecter.

“I would like you to sign a waiver, therein is a list of punishment limits that you will make clear to me, so that I don’t encroach upon them during our sessions. Any you do not mark, I will assume I can use, as necessary.”

Will snorted again but sat forward to bring the paper closer. On it was the usual nonsense: washing a mouth out with soap, time out, loss of privileges, spanking and impact punishments in every iteration Will had ever heard of, and some he hadn’t, humiliation in private quarters, humiliation in public… he signed without even bothering to mark any off. He had no limits. No one had ever come close to making Will feel uncomfortable when they dominated him. Awkward, certainly, when they were useless at it, but never uncomfortable.

He let the pen drop with a snap to the table as he sat back. “Now what?”

Hannibal raised an eyebrow, looking from Will to the sheet of paper. Will raised his own, meeting Hannibal’s stare head-on. 

“Not a single mark?”

“I don’t have limits,” Will said, “at least not any you’re going to be able to push.” Without a clean blood test from both of them, all bodily secretions were off the table, and there was nothing else that could make Will so much as flinch. 

“It’s an extensive list,” Hannibal said, tapping the top of the sheet, “and you’ve skimmed it very quickly. There may be items hidden within you won’t like.”

Will settled back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. “Try me,” he said icily. 

After a moment, Hannibal retrieved the form, sliding it into a folder. He stood from the desk, gesturing towards the middle of the room, where two chairs sat facing each other on a rug. “Come here, Will.”

Will sighed, put-upon and annoyed, but he did get out of his chair and follow the doctor to the designated area. He was surprised he wasn’t immediately told to lie on the couch, or to stand facing the wall for however long it took the man to realize time out didn’t work on Will. Will didn’t like talking to anyone. Once there, he dropped heavily into one of the chairs.

Hannibal clicked his tongue, taking a seat himself. “I didn’t tell you to sit down,” he pointed out. Will just raised an eyebrow. Hannibal hummed and sat forward, hands clasped between his knees. “I understand that this may seem jarring to you, considering your history of avoiding therapy, and avoiding dynamic-specific routines. However, as I am under the employment of the FBI, and not you yourself, I am within my rights to keep you in session for as long as I deem necessary, regardless of what other commitments you may have scheduled.”

“Doesn’t seem legal.”

“Oh, it’s perfectly legal,” Hannibal shrugged. “You are here because your employer worries for your personal safety, and the safety of those around you due to your temper. I, myself, am a believer in slow progressive therapy, rather than something harsh, but I will not hesitate should you prove unresponsive to my initial attempts.”

“What are you going to do, tie me down?” Will sneered. The doctor’s expression didn’t waver.

“Should you prove uncooperative,” Hannibal said instead, “I am within my rights to have you committed.” he watched as Will’s eyes widened despite himself, as he swallowed thickly enough for Hannibal to hear. Involuntary commitment to a clinic was truly the last resort for submissives, they were delicate things by nature, even those that claimed not to be. Hannibal hummed, sat back. “Let us hope it doesn’t come to that. Now, please, come here.”

In a clinic, there would be more than one Dom there to command and guide Will, a constant source of stimulation. It was good for people suffering from submission or Dominance withdrawal, a quick surge of the chemicals that sated that need in the brain. 

But it was difficult, overwhelming, and often uncomfortable. Hannibal saw in Will’s eyes the moment he decided just one Dom was a better option. 

Will got to his feet, crossing the rug in three quick strides, standing awkwardly in front of Hannibal. It was clear he had no posture training, or was resisting an instinctive urge to demonstrate it. 

No matter. They had as much time as they needed. 

“Are you comfortable with the standard system?” Hannibal asked. 

“You aren’t going to be able to push me to the point where I need it.” Will hadn’t safeworded for much more intimidating Doms than a man with a  _ paisley pocket square.  _ He was not about to start now. 

Hannibal raised an eyebrow. “That’s not what I asked you, Will.”

“It’s fine,” Will said, irritation thick on his tongue. “Standard traffic light safewords. Got it. Can we get this over with?”

“Kneel.” Hannibal widened his thighs and snapped his fingers, pointing at the spot between his feet. Will flinched at the sound, gaping down at him. 

The position was suggestive, but Hannibal cared more for the security of it. Between Hannibal’s legs, Will would be partially shielded from the room. It would go a long way towards helping him relax. 

Will wavered, at war with himself, before dropping into a stiff and uncomfortable kneel. He dug his fingers into his knees, back ramrod straight to keep himself as far from Hannibal as possible. 

And then Hannibal caught him by the hair, tugging him firmly, though not painfully, until Will was forced to crawl forward and press his chest to the seat of the chair, snug between Hannibal’s calves. Hannibal guided Will’s head to rest against his thigh. 

Will made an unhappy sound but didn’t struggle free. His hands remained fisted at his sides and he didn’t relax into the position at all. It was awkward, and hard to hold, and Will knew that due to gravity, if nothing else, he’d be the one to give first. He hated that. He was certain Hannibal knew that, hence the demeaning position.

Will resisted as long as he could, in absolute silence, until he was trembling, until his back ached with how he was bent, and his fingers were numb from how hard he dug them into his palms. Slowly, inch by inch, he eased more of his weight against Hannibal’s lap, until he was resting against him as he should have been from the beginning. As any other submissive would have done, instinctively, upon being gathered so close.

Will’s breath shuddered from him as Hannibal’s fingers carded through his hair, folding stray curls behind his ear. He quivered at the sensation, nerves on fire with how desperately he wanted to feel that again.

“Good boy,” Hannibal murmured, and the words grated against Will’s skull. He tried to lift his head and found it firmly pressed down again. “You were doing so well, Will, don’t get in the way of progress now.”

Will groaned, shoving his hands against the seat cushion. Hannibal petted his hair again, his other hand pinning Will down with fingers against the back of his neck.

“This is how we will start every session,” Hannibal told him, the hand in his hair as gentle as the one keeping Will still was not. He’d leave marks. “You will kneel next to me and tell me about your day, about how you’ve been feeling, whether you’ve slept, what you’ve eaten. Once we’ve had a satisfactory conversation, I will introduce you to what we will work on for the rest of our time together that day.”

“Fuck,” Will pushed the word into the fabric his face rubbed against as he tried to squirm free. “You’re supposed to just spank me or something. Discipline me and send me back to work.”

“I’m supposed to see to it that you are healthy, in every aspect of your life, before I consider signing off on your return to work,” Hannibal countered. “You are not in control here, Will, I am the doctor, and you are my patient. Arguing with me will not get you leniency. Lecturing me will not get you submission. It is not in my nature to submit, as it is not in yours to dominate. The farther you stray, the more dangerous you are to yourself.”

Will bared his teeth, his growl hidden against Hannibal’s thigh. He wasn’t a danger to himself. He was in complete control. Just because people still expected submissives to be  _ docile _ and  _ sweet. _ Will was misanthropic, not suffering. 

Hannibal didn’t respond to Will’s fussing. His fingers never ceased in their repetitive movements. In any other situation, it might have been pleasant. “Tell me about your day, Will,” he instructed.

Will rolled his eyes. Hannibal could not possibly have seen it properly, and yet the hand on his neck increased its pressure as if in warning. 

“It was a day,” Will snarled. 

“You can do better than that,” Hannibal said. “The longer you fight me, the harder you make things for yourself.”

“I stared at pictures of corpses for eight hours and devised lessons around them, and then came here so an overbearing Dominant could treat me like his own personal pet, how’s that for better?” Will spat.

“What affronts you so much about your treatment?” Hannibal asked next, still holding Will still as he caressed his hair, scratched gently at his scalp.

“I’m not a fucking  _ pet,” _ Will snarled, but he did settle a little more. The hand against his neck was really starting to hurt him, and in the short time he’d spent with Hannibal in one session already, he knew the man would keep his word and make Will’s life hell til he pretended to submit. “I want to be treated with respect.”

“Respect is earned,” Hannibal pointed out gently. “You have acted rudely with me, and we have known each other for fifteen minutes. You have acted rudely to your superior, to the point where he grew concerned for your wellbeing. What do you know about your dynamic, Will?”

Will groaned. “It’s in the word, isn’t it? Submissive, quiet, demure, doormat. I hate it.”

“If that’s how you’ve been treated up until this point, I apologise,” Hannibal replied, and Will wanted to scream. “A submissive holds as much power as a Dominant, given the proper circumstances, and having an outlet to express yourself as you naturally need to is healthy for everyone.”

“I’m  _ fine.” _

“Have you been sleeping, Will?” Hannibal asked him next, entirely unmoved by his tone or his tension. “Have you been feeling well, overall?”

“I have insomnia,” Will said, “it’s unrelated.”

“Is it?” Hannibal’s clever fingers found a spot behind Will’s ear that threatened to make him melt, even with the pressure holding him down. He stiffened. “You have needs,” Hannibal continued. “Your mind needs you to indulge your dynamic just as much as it needs you to drink water or eat a meal. It’s a biological requirement.”

“I’ve done just fine so far,” Will grumbled. 

“A dynamic is your brain’s way of relieving stress,” Hannibal said, sounding like Will’s high school health textbook. “Without it, you will only wind yourself up further and further. As would I, were I to neglect my need to care for a submissive.

“ _ Care _ ?” Will scoffed. “Command. Control.”

“In such things, care is still found. Just as you would find safety and security in them.”

There wasn’t a command in the world that could make Will feel safe or secure. He’d seen too much, seen the corpses of submissives whose Dominants sought control for its own sake rather than for its supposed benefits. Will’s job haunted him, flooded his nightmares. And sometimes, his dreams. 

It was impossible for Will to relax. Indulge in too many base urges, and he’d lose control entirely. 

“Not likely,” he mumbled, but he could feel his shoulders relaxing a little under Hannibal’s practiced touch. Damn him. Hannibal hummed and eased the pressure of the hand holding Will down.

“Perhaps we will find your limits together,” Hannibal suggested. Then he let Will go entirely. “You may stand, if you wish, and return to your seat, or stay here as we have been. I’ll let you decide.”

Will was on his feet so fast he almost tripped over. He stumbled back to his seat and rubbed the back of his neck with a wince, glaring at Hannibal over the rims of his glasses. Hannibal leveled him with a passive look, and met Will’s eyes long enough for the agent to look away first, cheeks warm from such intimate contact. If he thought about it for more than a moment, Will couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched him at all.

“Now what?”

“Now we will end our session for the day,” Hannibal told him, pushing to stand up. “There is no sense in overloading you when you are already so overwhelmed. We will work slowly to get you to a place where we can utilize our scheduled hour to its maximum capacity. I will see you tomorrow, same time.”

Will snorted. “Tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Hannibal confirmed. “And daily, for as long as you need to reach a relaxed state when in my presence. Then, we will see each other every other day.”

Will couldn’t imagine the bill the FBI would be footing for this. He shook his head in disbelief. “And if I never am?”

Hannibal’s smile made the bottom of Will’s stomach drop out. “There are many days in a year, Will,” he said. “And I am known for my patience.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I thought this was a punishment?"_
> 
> _"You've taken your punishment," Hannibal reminded him. "This is your reward for taking it so bravely."_
> 
> Will accepts a punishment for his rudeness the other day, and learns a whole lot more about himself than he thought he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential warnings: peg on tongue punishment, mild humiliation, forced softness

Daily. Daily, until Will ‘adjusted,’ so basically until he was cold and in the ground. Will picked at a cuticle, already split and bleeding sluggishly from earlier fidgeting. 

He hadn’t realized how much his life revolved around work until he was out of it. Sure, Will had his dogs, and he would happily spend every minute of the day with them, but it wasn’t a substitute for having a clear goal and tasks to accomplish. 

Will winced at the thought-- it was borderline  _ submissive _ \-- and shook his head to clear it. He’d spent the day making lesson plans instead; he had a few cases he covered with every single class, but he also liked to make sure he covered anything new and notable, cases that his students would have followed as they unfolded. There never seemed to be a lack of them. 

It was only the first week. Only the first week, only the  _ second _ day of therapy, and Will was already climbing the walls. He’d built a life around moving from one task to the next, keeping himself busy so that his mind couldn’t wander.

His mind had a  _ lot _ of time to wander, now.

This time, when Hannibal let Will in, he led Will straight to the chairs. Will could have been imagining it, but they seemed to have been moved closer together. 

Hannibal settled into his seat and spread his thighs invitingly. Will swallowed his pride. He’d tried to prepare for this, emotionally, knowing Hannibal would not be the type to stray from routine, but he was still stiff and uncomfortable as he dropped to his knees, trying to keep space between himself and the seat of his chair. He didn’t want to crawl as far into Hannibal as he had yesterday. 

When the doctor tilted his head, Will sighed and moved closer, enough to rest his forehead against Hannibal’s thigh, but not to be pressed so intimately against him as last time. Thankfully, this was allowed; Hannibal didn’t yank him in any closer than was necessary for his hand to cup the back of Will’s head as he started petting him again. His other, with no need to keep Will pinned like the day before, moved up and down Will’s back.

“Tell me about your day,” Hannibal prompted. Will gritted his teeth.

“I made lesson plans.” Will had considered going the opposite way of his first session, and describing his day in pedantic unnecessary detail, but he hadn’t the energy. For some reason, their first session had almost entirely sapped him of his will to do anything at all. And the lack of structure wasn’t helping. “I walked my dogs in the woods by my house. I came here.”

“How many dogs do you have?”

“Seven,”

The conversation was stilted but not agonizing, and Will didn’t even realize he’d started to relax into the hands caressing him until Hannibal stopped touching him. He felt the phantom points of Hannibal’s fingers still tickling his scalp as he sat up and adjusted his glasses.

“Now what?” He asked. Hannibal blinked languidly at him.

“Now we address your earlier rudeness so it isn’t hanging between us going forward, and establish your first routine in session.”

Will raised an eyebrow, shifting to sit on his hip rather than kneeling as he had been. “I thought having a session a day was routine enough.”

“You’re used to working to a schedule,” Hannibal reminded him, as though Will had forgotten, “and while you are in my care, that schedule isn’t relevant. Without structure, submissives feel unmoored, panicked, and I would like for you to look forward to our sessions and the safety they bring you.”

Hannibal crossed one leg over the other. “Tell me about the punishments you’ve received from dominants before me, and how they affected you.”

Will struggled with conflicting urges, one to scurry back to his own chair and put space between them, the other to dive forward and hide himself in Hannibal’s lap. The latter urge he blamed on latent instincts-- Will was very definitely  _ not _ suffering from dynamic withdrawal, but he wasn’t stupid enough to pretend he didn’t have one. 

Instead of doing either of those things, he settled his gaze on Hannibal’s terrible tie, hopefully close enough to his face to look attentive. 

It was an invasive question. One that Will should have expected, but it left him feeling exposed nonetheless. 

“I can take a beating, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Will said, heartbeat hammering faster in his chest. If he was being honest with himself, he occasionally did enjoy pain, not that he wanted Hannibal to know that. Hannibal probably assumed, anyway, but Will wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. 

“I’ll make a note of it,” Hannibal said, with a smile that had Will shifting awkwardly in his spot on the floor. “But that wasn’t what I asked you, was it, Will?”

Will swallowed. “I’ve had long-term doms before,” he said. “It’s not like there’s a lot of variation. We did the standards; spanking, belts, time-out.” Neither of the men Will had dated long-term had been particularly creative. 

Rough, yes. But not creative. All the better for it; Will had enough scars without experimentation. 

He’d never felt particularly cared for or cherished then either. He supposed he was just the kind of guy who didn’t do that sappy stuff; he enjoyed a good fuck, maybe sharing a bed with someone for the warmth, but nothing more than that. Certainly not being petted, certainly not kneeling between someone’s legs and telling them about his day.

Will ran a hand through his hair. He waited for Hannibal to say something else, hoping he’d forgotten the second part of his demand of Will. But of course, that was as likely as snow in summer. Will huffed a breath through his nose.

“Time out is ineffective, I don’t like people. Being made to be away from them? It’s a treat, honestly. And pain? You can ignore pain. Pain passes.”

“But do you learn from it?”

“There never seemed to be a lesson,” Will sneered back. “Just the sheer love of hurting another person. So I suppose I did learn something. I can take care of myself.”

Hannibal nodded, taking the answer in. Then he folded his hands over his knee, thumbs tapping together almost absently. “Punishments from me will only ever be earned, and only ever there to teach you the error of your ways. I do not believe in excessive force, sometimes just words are enough to bring about contrition. However, in your case I feel you need to have physical evidence of a punishment served in order to feel properly fulfilled.”

Hannibal unfolded himself from his chair and held out a hand to Will, which he pointedly ignored. He did, however, obey when Hannibal asked him to stand.

“I would like for you to stand in the corner,” Hannibal gestured to it, it was near the door but had full view of the wide, tall windows. “Hands on your head, please.”

Will snorted, shaking his head, but he moved to obey after a few moments. He’d told the doctor time out didn’t work, and he wanted to gift Will that time to himself anyway? Wonderful. It would be an easy way to pass the time, staring at the wood paneling as the clock ticked by.

“Facing the room, please,” Hannibal told him, when Will had turned to settle himself. Will frowned and looked over his shoulder.

“What?”

“Facing the room, Will,” Hannibal repeated. “Hands on your head.”

Brow furrowed, Will turned, slowly raising his hands. It was more awkward now, with Hannibal’s eyes on him. Will’s cheeks tinted pink. 

Hannibal rummaged in the drawer of his desk, plucking something small from it. Will didn’t have long to wonder, though. In a few strides, Hannibal had come to stand in front of him. 

“Open.”

Will blinked at Hannibal. The command was delivered in a low, quiet voice, pitched perfectly to appeal to submissive instincts, but it had baffled Will. 

“Open your mouth, Will,” Hannibal clarified. After a long moment to consider, Will parted his lips. “Wider.” Will let his jaw drop. “Stick out your tongue.”

“ _ What?” _ Will’s hands dropped from his head, his stare incredulous. Hannibal merely waited, one eyebrow raised, until Will had resumed the position, cheeks scarlett as he stuck his tongue out. 

The object from Hannibal’s desk turned out to be a clothespin. He clipped it to Will’s tongue, ignoring Will’s shocked expression. 

It hurt. Not intolerably so, but just enough for Will to wince, working his tongue to try and ease his discomfort. 

“If you shift it, you’ll have to wear two,” Hannibal told him.

Will made a displeased sound but stopped moving his tongue. The pressure wasn't excessive, he was getting used to it, but the humiliating position, and the fact that he couldn't close his mouth, had Will gripping his own hair so tightly his knuckles went white.

"You will remain standing just like this for ten minutes," Hannibal explained to him. "You may not drop your hands or remove the clothespin at any point unless it is to use your safeword, in which case we will discuss an alternative punishment for you."

Will blinked at him. He could already feel saliva gathering beneath his tongue. He tried to swallow, but the motion was awkward.

"This is for your own good, Will," the doctor added softly before turning to move deeper into the office. Will watched him, wondering if he'd pick up a book or start some paperwork, turn away just enough for Will to wipe his mouth against his shoulder.

But Hannibal merely took a seat behind his desk and  _ watched him. _ Nothing but the ticking of Hannibal's elaborate desk clock to break the silence. Will made a soft sound, just something to break the thickness of it all. A string of spit slid down the corner of his mouth and to his chin and he closed his eyes, embarrassed.

"Eyes on me, Will," Hannibal said, voice that same, low timbre from before, and Will found himself unable to disobey.

This was not the time to himself Will was used to. He found his thoughts pulled to Hannibal, no matter how he tried to distract himself. He couldn’t look away. The peg on his tongue, the saliva that gathered in the corners of his mouth, all of it was a constant thrum of  _ Hannibal _ in Will’s mind. 

Will stopped breathing, or at least, it felt like he did. There was no way for him to escape this moment, no refuge to be found in his mind. Will lost track of the seconds he tried to count. 

He… drifted.

The minutes stretched out into eternity, and yet, it could only have been seconds before Hannibal was standing, crossing the room, coming so close that Will was cross-eyed trying to hold his gaze. 

A warm hand held Will’s chin in a gentle grasp, Hannibal’s thumb wiping away a damp trail. “Good boy, Will.  _ Very _ good.”

The words pulled a sound from Will, soft and choked, but there. Hannibal smiled, removing the peg from Will’s tongue. As Will worked his jaw, Hannibal pulled him forward, leading him back to the chair he’d knelt at before.

“You were so good for me,” Hannibal praised, guiding Will back down to his knees. Will went, still lost in the hazy feeling that had crept over him. He was unmoored, and Hannibal was an anchor. “So obedient.”

Will hated that word, and yet he found himself damn near whimpering at the sound of it. Where less than half an hour before Will had bent awkwardly against Hannibal in this very position, now Will nuzzled against his lap, arching up into the hands that stroked his hair and down his back.

He was shaking, he realized. He was shaking and so tired, as though he'd run a mile. And Hannibal's hands felt so good against him, so warm and heavy, so reassuring and safe.

Will made another sound, this a little louder, a little more wretched, and Hannibal hushed him, moving to cup Will's cheek.

"All is forgiven," he said, stroking his thumb beneath Will's eye, over his cheek. "All is well, my good boy."

Will tensed at the word, slowly coming back to himself, but still didn't fight to get up again. Instead he concentrated on breathing, on getting his center. Only then did he lick his lips to ask:

"I thought this was a punishment?"

"You've taken your punishment," Hannibal reminded him. "This is your reward for taking it so bravely."

_ A reward? _ Will's punishments had ended when the dominant saw fit to end them, and then he was usually told to get out of the man's sight until he was ready to see Will again. That was usually Will's cue to leave, subsequently earning him another punishment next time they saw each other.

He'd never been rewarded.

You were punished because you’d fucked up. Rewarding a sub afterwards would undermine the whole thing, and Doms  _ hated _ to be undermined. And Will hardly felt like standing still and drooling all over himself for ten minutes was worthy of praise. 

But Hannibal seemed to disagree. His hands wandered all over Will’s hair, his neck, his back. He left tingling nerves in his wake, until Will felt sensitive and needy. 

When it stopped, when Hannibal’s hand came to rest in Will’s hair, Will nearly protested. 

“You’ve done very well today,” Hannibal told him. “You made even more progress than I might have hoped. You’ve needed to go under for quite some time, haven’t you?”

“No,” Will croaked. He didn’t need it. Subspace was difficult for him to reach in the best of circumstances, let alone to indulge in on a regular basis. 

Will knew subs who were able to sink almost daily. He’d never been one of them. 

Hannibal merely tugged almost playfully at Will’s curls in response. “It’s alright,” he said. “I know what you need. I’ll take care of you.”

Despite himself, Will sank further into Hannibal’s thigh.

“Sweet boy,” Hannibal praised. “I have just one more task for you today, are you ready?”

Will grunted in lieu of an answer. He doubted Hannibal would have cared if he’d said no, anyway. The doctor squeezed his hand into a fist, Will’s curls catching in it just enough to feel, and let him go again.

“I would like to establish a routine ending to our sessions now. We have a routine beginning, and I want to instill structure in your life early. I want you to stand, when you’re ready, and bend yourself over my knees.”

Will barely heard the words, or if he did, they didn’t register before he started moving. Everything was hazy, he felt like he’d been yanked out of a tub of warm water and his limbs felt heavy and almost not his own. He didn’t even realize Hannibal had continued speaking, as he moved to obey, until a particular word snapped him back to focus.

“What?” Will mumbled. Hannibal set a warm palm against the small of his back.

“A maintenance spanking,” Hannibal repeated, “is a proven and effective way for a submissive to be reminded of their place and help them sink into a safe headspace. It will ground you, and you will return home from our sessions with something you can feel and think about until we see each other again.”

Will blinked, he blinked again, and then he tried to push himself up.

“Stay still, Will.”

“I don’t want that.”

“I don’t believe you are in touch with yourself enough to understand what you do and do not want. And certainly not enough to know what you need.”

“I don’t--”

“Do you have something to say to me, Will?” Hannibal prompted instead, still holding Will down against himself.

Will squirmed over Hannibal’s lap. He knew the words to end this. It wasn’t a punishment, supposedly, so Hannibal wouldn’t need to come up with an alternative. 

But pride held Will’s tongue. He hadn’t used a safeword in years. It wasn’t worth the hassle, at first, and then it became a challenge to himself. 

“I don’t understand what I’m being punished for,” Will finally said. 

“You aren’t.” A large hand suddenly cupped Will’s backside. Will let out a startled squeak, pushing up onto his toes. Hannibal’s hand followed, a firm pressure Will could not evade. “This is a reminder. A reminder to be good when we’re apart, a reminder that you have me taking care of you now. In time, you should find it a source of comfort.”

“I really doubt that,” Will said, digging his toes into the carpet. 

“You’ve gone too long without proper care,” Hannibal said. Will thought he sounded almost angry at the thought. “And it’s clear that whatever care you  _ have _ had was substandard. You’re unused to the attention you deserve. You’ll find I don’t do anything by halves, Will.”

Will was about to shoot back another retort when Hannibal released him, and the hand that had been cupping him now smacked down hard against the curve of his ass. Will cried out in surprise, and immediately slapped a hand over his mouth to keep any more humiliating sounds inside. It wasn’t as though it  _ hurt him, _ he’d been hit so much harder and with things far more painful than hands.

And yet… the sounds kept coming, caught against his palm as Hannibal continued to spank him, a relentless and unforgiving rhythm that was almost meditative in its deliberation.

Will could feel the skin on his ass heating, even through the fabric of his underwear and trousers. He yelped when Hannibal moved to spank lower, where he would sit, lower still over his thighs…

Will didn’t realize he was meeting each blow with a gentle nudge backwards until Hannibal changed speed and paused longer between strikes to soothe over Will’s ass.

“Just like that, Will,” Hannibal murmured, stroking gently over him before grasping him tight, squeezing. Will whined. Hannibal returned to soothing him again. “Just like that for me.”

It had been so long since Will had been properly spanked. Especially a good old-fashioned, over-the-knee hand spanking. 

And Hannibal’s hands were so large, covering and caressing Will. Firm. His voice soft, his words digging deep into Will, right into his core. 

Will had barely managed to come back from his haze. The fog dragged him back under, his body merely a conduit for sensation. 

“Does that feel good?”

Hannibal’s voice seemed to surround him. Will shuddered and whimpered, unable to articulate exactly  _ what _ he was feeling. Something held him back from saying how good it was, some last shred of stubborn dignity. 

Hannibal took Will’s sound as affirmation. He tilted his thigh, tipping Will’s ass up higher for his attention. Tears pricked at the corners of Will’s eyes, and he wrapped an arm around Hannibal’s calf, clinging for dear life. 

“Such pretty sounds. You’ll remember this, won’t you, sweet boy? You’ll carry me with you when you leave. You’ll remember that you have someone to take care of you, however you need.”

_ Yes… _ Will’s mind whined for him,  _ yes yes yes… _

Hannibal spanked him a few moments more, long enough for Will’s tears to be genuine, hot against his cheeks, and then soothed him for what felt like just as long, if not longer. Will wasn’t even sure which way was up, even as Hannibal guided him to kneel again, drew him close and cupped his face with both hands.

Will sniffed and blinked up at him, eyes wide and needy, his heart pulsing behind his ears. He parted his lips as Hannibal soothed a thumb over them, closed his eyes when Hannibal praised him again.

He was let go and guided to stand only when Will could focus on the things Hannibal was saying, only when Will could reply coherently enough to be understood. He was led to the door, Hannibal stroking his hair just once more, and released.

Will barely remembered getting home, only that he did. He fed his dogs and closed down the house on autopilot before falling into bed. He was asleep before his head even hit the pillow, and slept more soundly than he had in years.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Yellow,” he whispered, almost too quietly to hear, but Hannibal heard him, and immediately cupped Will’s face to hold him steady. He didn’t remove the blindfold._
> 
> _“Tell me why,” Hannibal encouraged him, and Will just shook his head. He hated that he’d used a word at all, that he’d shown how weak he was. But when Hannibal didn’t relent, didn’t let him go and forget Will had said anything, he sighed._
> 
> _“I can’t predict what you’ll do,” he mumbled._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're no longer in the ethical line of therapy XD

“I’ve been sleeping better,” Will admitted quietly, letting his eyes close as Hannibal’s fingers parted his curls and let them rest against his scalp again. “Well enough that the dogs have to wake me to take them out. They’ve never had to do that before.”

It had been two weeks. 

Two weeks of daily sessions, two weeks of humiliation, of talking about his  _ feelings, _ of admitting he even had any, two weeks of lap time and maintenance spankings.

Two weeks without random outbursts at the slightest inconveniences, two weeks without replacing empty bottles in his liquor cabinet, two weeks of more fishing that Will had managed to make time for in the last year combined.

“Today I walked out into the stream, and just stood there,” he added after a while, lips parting against the irrationally expensive suit trousers Hannibal wore. “I felt it around me, breathed in deep for the first time in what felt like forever.”

“You feel safe there,” Hannibal encouraged him, smiling as Will smiled a little and nodded his answer, nuzzling. He’d been such a difficult patient starting out; certainly not hopeless, Hannibal had immediately seen the need in him, the ache that radiated off Will like a smell when he’d first walked in, but difficult regardless.

And Hannibal had enjoyed every minute that it had taken to bring Will to this; sprawled at his feet, nuzzling his lap. If he were a cat, Hannibal was certain Will would be purring.

“Is it like how you feel here?” He added after a moment, anticipating the tension that shot through Will like electricity, and deliberately curling his fingers behind his ear, just  _ there, _ where he knew Will loved to be touched.

“Nnn-” the word ‘no’ balanced on the tip of Will’s tongue, forced back by the pleased shudder that rolled down his spine. A lie would be noticed right away. A lie would be  _ punished _ , and Will had so far learned that Hannibal’s touch was intoxicatingly sweet when he was pleased with Will. 

Will couldn’t quite force the ‘yes’ past his lips, but he gave a short, sharp nod, turning to hide his face against Hannibal’s thigh. Hannibal forced him back, tugging gently at his hair until Will was looking up at him.

“You’ve been so good for me,” Hannibal said, and the praise was a wave beating against Will’s last shreds of resistance. “I think you should be rewarded for that, don’t you?”

Will stared up at him, heart thudding in his chest. He’d seen Hannibal’s idea of punishment, of discipline. He had no context for what a reward without that would be like. 

“You’ll enjoy it,” Hannibal promised. “Let me push your boundaries.”

It was clearly not a request. Will shivered when Hannibal rose to his feet, lost. 

“Stay as you are,” Hannibal said when he began to rise. “Let me get ready first.”

Will swallowed but didn’t get up.

Two weeks ago he would have gotten up.

Two weeks ago he would have told Hannibal to go fuck himself, that Will wasn’t going to remain on his  _ knees _ for a  _ reward _ like some animal.

Two weeks ago he wouldn’t have been good enough for a reward.

The last thought hit Will in the stomach and he gasped quietly, pursing his lips. Somewhere at the back of his mind, he still hated how quickly he had succumbed to this, how easily he had allowed the man to trick him into being a sensitive, subservient thing. He wasn’t either of those. He was submissive, by birth, by blood, by nature’s bad sense of humor, but he wasn’t a stereotype, he refused to be.

When Hannibal returned with a length of dark rope in his hands, Will shoved himself backwards, catching his hands against the floor to push himself up.

Hannibal hushed him, taking a knee in front of him and reaching out to stroke Will’s hair.

“Relax,” he said. “This isn’t punishment, this isn’t pain. I want to give you something beautiful. Just trust me.”

“Why?” Will managed, eyes still on the rope, narrowed in apprehension. He hated that he was panicked and not  _ responding _ to that, he hated that instead of lashing out, he turned his head against the hand that petted him.

“You need to feel secure,” Hannibal explained, shifting a little closer, “it is the most primary, the most base desire of every submissive. Let me show you that.”

“I won’t feel secure,” Will argued, even as he made no move to stop Hannibal unbuttoning his shirt. “I’ll feel out of control.”

“Trust me to ground you,” Hannibal said, guiding Will’s arms free of his sleeves. He tugged Will’s undershirt off next, and then shifted to settle behind him. “Trust me to know how to hold you back from the edge.”

The worst part was, Will did. That didn’t stop the steady boil of panic in his chest as Hannibal began to wrap the rope.

A harness came first, wrapped in criss-crossing lines around Will’s torso and knotted over his spine. When Hannibal reached for Will’s hand, he flinched.

“You’re afraid,” Hannibal noted. “I wonder what it is that scares you so.”

Memories tugged at Will, unbidden. He shoved them down, trembling as Hannibal guided his arm to rest at the small of his back. He didn’t need to think about those. They were over. They were done. 

Hannibal’s hands were unnervingly gentle, as he bound Will’s arms snuggly behind his back. When he was finished, Will couldn’t move them even a millimeter from where they’d been placed, yet the rope never burned or chafed at him. Snug without being painful. Will swallowed, ducking his head when Hannibal came to kneel in front of him once more.

“You seem like you aren’t quite ready for hog-tying,” he said, in a voice that might have been teasing. 

Will managed a breathy little laugh but little else. He immediately bit his lip, tucked is chin further against his chest. He was so exposed here, like he always was when Hannibal placed him on time out in the corner, with his hands on his head and a peg on his tongue. He was quivering. He wanted to rock back enough to bring his knees up in front of him, he wanted to hide himself away.

Hannibal’s hand in his hair brought Will back, somewhat, and he turned into it, instinctively seeking that assurance.

“How lovely you are,” Hannibal murmured, not yet forcing Will’s eyes up, but shifting close enough that there was almost no space between them, their knees slotting together where they were stretched out to the side. “How sad that no one has told you so.”

Will didn’t feel lovely. Feeling lovely meant he was weak, he was little. Lovely was something that needed protection, something that needed coddling and hiding from the world, and Will didn’t want that he didn’t--

Then why was he trying to hide? Why was he trying to make himself small? Why was he leaning into Hannibal’s welcoming warmth?

Hannibal continued to stroke Will’s hair, but his other hand moved lower, easing his knuckles over Will’s racing pulse, down lower to trace the sharp lines of his collarbone, barely-there tickling touches that brought goosebumps up on Will’s skin.

Hannibal’s hands had made many voyages over the past two weeks, but they’d never before touched him  _ here _ . In fact, it had been quite a long time since Will had allowed anyone to touch him like this, without folding in on himself to protect sensitive places. 

“What are you doing?” Will mumbled. Hannibal’s thumbs rubbed soothing circles alongside the hollow of his throat, so gentle Will might have imagined them.

“Shh,” Hannibal hushed him. “Let me take care of you. Close your eyes.”

Will obeyed, though he attempted to peek, eyelids closed  _ almost  _ entirely so that he could predict the next touch.

Instead of letting his hands wander further, Hannibal chuckled. 

“You’re so unused to pleasure,” he said, “When you should be allowed to glut yourself on it.”

Hannibal’s hands retreated, and a moment later Will caught a paisley pattern coming towards him. He squirmed on his knees, but it was not enough to keep Hannibal from securing the tie around his head, blinding him.

“Yellow,” he whispered, almost too quietly to hear, but Hannibal heard him, and immediately cupped Will’s face to hold him steady. He didn’t remove the blindfold.

“Tell me why,” Hannibal encouraged him, and Will just shook his head. He hated that he’d used a word at all, that he’d shown how  _ weak _ he was. But when Hannibal didn’t relent, didn’t let him go and forget Will had said anything, he sighed.

“I can’t predict what you’ll do,” he mumbled.

“You needn’t,” Hannibal told him, stroking his thumbs beneath the blindfold lightly. “All you need to do is trust me to give you pleasure, to let you sink and stay in that hazy place.”

“I’ve not--” Will bit his lip and grunted softly to ease the rest of the words back down his throat again. He’d never been blindfolded for good things. He’d never been touched so softly without pain coming immediately after. His Dominants loved to see him squirm, liked to see him scared. He was apparently easy to control when he was scared, and they lived for that control. But Hannibal… Hannibal was different. He was almost directly the opposite to every single Dom Will had ever been intimate with.

“Don’t,” Will tried again, licking his lips nervously. “Don’t let go of me?”

He didn’t want to be unmoored, he didn’t want to be let loose in his own mind to drive himself to panic and confusion; not when he couldn’t see anything to ground him, not when he had nothing to reach out to.

“I have no intention to,” Hannibal whispered, so close that Will could feel his breath against his cheek and trembled at the sensation. His entire body was responding to this man, to his tone of voice, to his strong hands, to the way he was touching Will like Will was worth touching softly. He didn’t need this, he didn’t want it, but when one of Hannibal’s hands moved to splay wide over Will’s belly, Will turned to nuzzle against the other, hiding his little moan against Hannibal’s palm.

The touches, in and of themselves, were not sexual. Will had endured far rougher and far more unpleasant touch in his lifetime. Despite that, heat seemed to burn within Will, coaxed higher and higher with each new pass of Hannibal’s hand. Hannibal let his palm slide up Will’s chest, then back down again. He traced patterns over the ridges of Will’s spine. 

It was a constant, unyielding sensation. Will squirmed against the ropes that held him, and found no give. He was trapped. Held by Hannibal, frozen in place. Unable to run away, unable to return the touch. He turned his face into the hand that never left his cheek, and let his lips brush against the wrist. It was not a kiss-- Will was not so far gone as to lose his boundaries entirely-- but it was a gratitude. A repayment for the soft, foggy feeling that began to overwhelm him.

Will didn’t know he was hard until Hannibal’s thumb grazed his nipple, just barely, enough that it  _ must _ have been accidental. Even still, Will gasped, lips parting against Hannibal’s skin, knees shifting ever so slightly wider. 

There were other hungers within Will that had gone too long unfed. And there was something about Hannibal, about his strength, about the firm tone of his voice, that called to something neglected within Will. 

He wanted-- he wanted-- Will didn’t know what he wanted. He was sure Hannibal did, though. Hannibal seemed to know everything about him, better than Will knew himself. Will whimpered, leaning heavily into Hannibal’s touch. 

“You’re aching, aren’t you?” Hannibal prompted, his hand moving to gently tease around Will’s peaked nipple. “For someone to care for you, for someone to let you sink and bring you back up again, safe and sound.”

“Nnn,” Will trembled, turning his face against Hannibal’s hand to silence himself, arching his back to get closer to the tickling touches that tormented him. When Hannibal gently squeezed his thumb and forefinger against Will’s nipple, he moaned, body quaking in need.

“Such a lovely, responsive thing,” Hannibal murmured, letting his lips shift against Will’s temple, letting him feel the words as well as hear them. “Such a good boy for me, aren’t you Will?”

_ Yes, _ Will wanted to say,  _ yes, I’ve been good, I’ve been so, so good. _

Outwardly, he pressed his pleasure into Hannibal’s palm.

Hannibal’s free hand moved to tease Will’s other nipple next, and he adjusted his body so that Will was pressed flush against him, skin to silky-smooth suit. Will tried to rub up against him. Hannibal didn’t stop him.

“I’m going to move my hand,” Hannibal told him, “and you’re going to stay just like this for me, aren’t you?”

Will nodded, brows furrowing as a helpless little sound escaped his lips when Hannibal moved his hand away. When it came to rest on Will’s belly again, just above the waistline of his trousers, Will bit his lip and whined.

He wanted Hannibal to touch him lower, he wanted Hannibal’s hands all over him. He wanted Hannibal here with him, here in this hazy warmth, in this safe, safe place Will had finally been allowed to enter.

“Such a sweet submissive boy,” Hannibal praised him, and Will’s cock twitched hard in his pants. “Not yet.”

Later, Will would dream of that phrase. He would hear it, surrounding him, in the dark of the night, and blame it on an over-active, too-hopeful imagination. He was too far gone to ascribe any real meaning to it, beyond that he wanted something and Hannibal was not going to give it to him. 

Hannibal chuckled, a low sound that Will wanted to bottle and keep with him. He wanted to shift, rise up on his knees and force Hannibal’s hand lower. 

But Hannibal had told him to be still, and in this moment, there was nothing Will wanted more than to please him. Hannibal was his Master, his owner, a thousand titles Will had held back for years. Will licked his lips and parted them, as if he might tempt Hannibal into something further, something more. 

“You’ve been so good,” Hannibal praised. “You want to keep being good for me, don’t you?”

Will nodded, helpless.

“How do we make sure you remember to behave, Will?”

Will knew this one. Cheeks burning, toes curling, Will wet his lips again. “S-spanking.”

“Beautiful boy.”

It was praise of the highest caliber, particularly when Hannibal’s hands found Will’s bare waist and guided him to his feet. Will’s legs were wobbly, his walk unsteady without sight, but Hannibal kept a tight hold on him as he guided Will forward. 

Will felt a tug on his belt, and then the zipper on his jeans was sliding down, his pants guided down around his thighs. Will whimpered, painfully hard and exposed in his briefs. 

“Bend over for me,” Hannibal told him, moving a hand up to grasp the harness he’d woven over Will’s back, guiding him to bend, holding Will’s weight when he was suspended, unbalanced.

Safe, secure, present.

He bent Will down until his belly pressed to one thigh and his hard cock to the other. Without prompting, Will spread his legs, bent his knees, arched his back. Without being told, he presented himself so beautifully for Hannibal’s hand.

Hannibal drew his palm down over the curve of Will’s ass, down to his thighs, back up again. His other hand grasped Will’s hair in a gentle fist and held him steady.

“Still pink from yesterday,” Hannibal commented, stroking his knuckles over the skin just beneath the leg of Will’s briefs. “Do you look, when you get home, Will? Do you take your clothes off and admire the lovely color in the mirror, remembering who painted you so beautifully?”

Will groaned, his hands clenching where they were bound, relaxing again. He nodded, wordless and lost, and Hannibal hummed his pleasure before bringing his palm down hard over Will’s exposed skin.

It was different this time. The first swat sparked along his thighs, spreading heat over places that had already been sensitized by Hannibal’s hand. Will gasped, startled, his body jerking along Hannibal’s lap. He couldn’t go far with one hand in his hair, but it was enough to get friction for his aching cock. 

The second swat caught him over the seat of his underwear, Hannibal’s broad hand cupping and soothing in the aftershocks. 

Fire, under Will’s skin, in his belly. He gasped, rising up onto his toes and then dropping back down again, trying to keep position, trying to be good. 

Will’s blood roared in his ears. Hannibal paused in his blows to deliver a pinch to Will’s sensitive inner thighs, and Will  _ moaned _ , startled and overwhelmed and so very hard. 

He’d been a bit of a masochist, once, before someone had ruined that for him. Now, Will remembered why he’d used to let men beat him. He thought of his belt, undone and around his thighs with his jeans, and how it would feel if Hannibal used that on him instead of his bare hand.

Somewhere along the line, Will had begun to shift, rocking his hips down against Hannibal’s thigh. He couldn’t help himself. He was nothing more than sensation. And Hannibal hadn’t said he couldn’t. If anything, Hannibal seemed to be encouraging it; every time he paused to caress and let Will breathe, he pressed down, guiding Will in his desperate thrusts. 

“Beautiful boy,” Hannibal praised him, spanking hard over Will’s left cheek. He watched as Will tensed, relaxed, tensed again, his body working hard to grind himself down. He could smell the arousal on him, so, so close. “Does this feel good?”

Will whined, hoping he wouldn’t be made to actually speak words, he didn’t know if his brain understood how to make words right then. He was vowels and consonants, heat and pain, action and reaction.

“Do you think about this,” Hannibal continued, spanking the other cheek this time and immediately pinching Will’s skin through his underwear, “when you pleasure yourself at home?”

God, he did, he  _ did, _ and Will hated that he did. He shouldn’t have had to, he should have been fine with regular porn, with a quick wank once in a while, he shouldn’t have had to be here at all. But he was here, he was  _ here, _ tied up and bent over a Dominant’s lap getting a maintenance spanking that  _ god damn him _ he looked forward to every day.

Will sobbed quietly and Hannibal hushed him, soothing over the skin he’d beaten brighter red, the skin that would sting the next day when he would have Will bend himself over his lap once more, and take down his own trousers when told.

“You will blossom when you’re taken care of properly,” Hannibal promised him, still rubbing away the pain he’d caused as Will rutted against him and let his tears wet the fabric around his head. “You will be radiant. Let me see you, Will, when you are at your most vulnerable, your most beautiful, let me see you and show you how worthy you are of being wanted.”

Will’s orgasm hit him so quickly he was breathless, trembling over Hannibal’s lap as he came, hard, in his underwear. The sound that left him wasn’t human, it was pure instinct, pure  _ need. _ He didn’t realize he was speaking until Hannibal’s hand soothed over his lips, not silencing him, but gentling him, easing down the panicked  _ yes, yes, yes, yes, _ to something more pleased, more needy.

When Hannibal guided Will to sink to his knees again, he could barely hold himself up. So Hannibal moved Will to rest between his legs again before removing his blindfold. It took several moments for Will to actually open his eyes, the world came through like a polaroid developing, bit by bit, the dark stuff first, the details later. He sniffed, blinking away the sticky tears clinging to his lashes, and looked up.

“I don’t--” his voice croaked, “I’ve never--”

“You were beautiful,” Hannibal told him. “You did exactly as you were told.”

This was probably bordering on an ethical violation, but Will could hardly get his eyes to focus, let alone figure out if it counted if Hannibal technically hadn’t  _ touched _ him there. Hannibal’s hands cupped his face, thumbs wiping tears away. 

“I-” Will stopped, helpless, as Hannibal’s warm brown eyes met Will’s. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to  _ feel _ . 

Hannibal tucked Will’s face against his thigh, letting Will turn and wipe his damp cheek against Hannibal’s slacks, hiding himself away. 

“Tomorrow,” Hannibal said, fingers gentle in Will’s hair, “You’ll present yourself without my help, won’t you?”

Will heard the command in Hannibal’s voice and shuddered. In that moment, he couldn’t think of a single reason to fight back. His head was empty, light, carefree.

“Yes, Sir.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Perhaps we should repeat the trust exercise,” Hannibal said, a smile easing his sharp features. “Learn through it and adjust our methods for further sessions.”_
> 
> _Will nodded again, cheeks bright and heart racing. The thought of being on his knees, tied up, blindfolded… for Hannibal to look at him, to touch him, to explore--_

Will was early for his next session. He was over an hour early. 

He sat in the car and squeezed the steering wheel and tried to get his mind to slow down.

He remembered very little, just snippets, of the previous evening. He remembered Hannibal untying him and massaging feeling back into his limbs. He remembered being dressed with such care. He remembered being offered some water, an apple, and being petted as he chewed numbly, floating in absolute bliss.

He remembered the sting when he sat down in the driver's seat to drive home, and looking at himself in the mirror when he arrived. He'd gotten used to a slight pink hue, but this was red, this was hotter and more sensitive. This was a claim of sorts.

Will had curled up in a ball beneath the covers and imagined that Hannibal was there with him, just in the kitchen fixing something before he'd join Will in bed.

He fell asleep before he could remind himself that that was only a fantasy.

Now, he waited, eyes on his watch as it ticked closer and closer to his appointment time. He was out of his car and in the reception area five minutes before they were due to start and made a soft sound when Hannibal welcomed him in early.

Will hung up his jacket, as he always did, he followed Hannibal to the two armchairs, as he always did, but as he started to sink to his knees, Hannibal stopped him.

Will swallowed hard. Had he done something wrong?

"I'd like to try something different for our conversation today," Hannibal explained, easing back into the chair and curling his fingers to coax Will closer. Into his lap, rather than against it.

Will went, wide-eyed, swallowing thickly as he was guided to straddle Hannibal’s thighs. Urged closer and closer, until they were chest to chest. 

This was a new level of intimacy, for Will, an unusual closeness that seemed lethal. It was too much, too freely given. There were consequences to losing oneself to affection like this. Payments to be made to earn it.

But Hannibal’s hand found Will’s hair, guiding him to rest his head against Hannibal’s shoulder, and Will melted against him completely.

“There we go,” Hannibal said softly, stroking a palm up and down Will’s back. “Isn’t this better?”

Will shrugged. It was a  _ lot _ better, but he had the irrational fear that if Hannibal knew how much Will was enjoying himself, he would push him away.

He hadn’t the day before, when Will had made a mess of himself over Hannibal’s knee, but it was normal for submissives to feel arousal during a scene. Craving Hannibal’s touch went beyond that, crossed the boundaries between patient and doctor. 

With a start, Will realized he was going to miss this when it was all over.

Hannibal hushed him, gently massaging Will’s scalp as Will squirmed about in his lap before finally resting his weight against the doctor with a heavy sigh. He’d gone completely boneless, just one hand was up against Hannibal’s shoulder, ostensibly to hold on but he was gently pawing at Hannibal instead. Soft, needy little touches.

Such a sweet thing he was, now that the walls had been ground down low enough to be able to peer over. Here was a man who didn’t know his own need for his own submission, a man who had been hurt rather than cared for, and never educated in his own rights as a submissive. Here was a man desperate.

Hannibal was a specialist in desperate.

“Tell me about your day,” he coaxed, turning his head in as much of a nuzzle as he would allow in his workspace. Will pressed closer against him, turning his own face against Hannibal’s neck.

“I didn’t do a lot,” he admitted softly.

“Rest is as inherent to your healing as work,” Hannibal replied. “More so, I would think.”

“I thought about you,” Will offered after a while, voice almost too quiet to hear. “About our session yesterday.”

This was an admittance Will would not have allowed mere weeks ago. In reward, Hannibal let his hand rest low on Will’s back, just above his ass, and enjoyed the way Will shifted as though to encourage it further. 

“And where did those thoughts take you?”

Will hesitated, his lips pressed to Hannibal’s throat, as they had to his wrist the day before. Hannibal wondered if Will recognized his own yearning, or if the motion was entirely subconscious. 

“I don’t want to overstep.”

Will was thinking too much, which meant he hadn’t relaxed enough, Hannibal leaned back a bit in his seat, guiding Will’s lax body into a more comfortable sprawl. “Do you remember our discussion last week about the core tenants of the Dominant/submissive relationship?” He could feel the heat of Will’s blush against his shoulder.

“Vulnerability,” Will murmured. “Trust. Care. Guidance.” He hesitated again.

“Honesty,” Hannibal finished for him, guiding Will up to meet his eyes. “They apply even here,  _ especially _ here, in our therapeutic setting.”

“I thought about you coming home with me,” Will whispered. “I fell asleep waiting for you to come to bed.”

Hannibal stroked Will’s hair from his face with both hands and cupped his cheeks before easing him down against his chest again.

“You imagined me in your safe place, in your home,” Hannibal encouraged, counting Will’s vertebra through his shirt with careful fingers. He felt Will shift against him before he nodded. “Have you had someone in that space with you before?”

Will let out a breath and shook his head. When Hannibal gently tugged his hair Will sighed and turned his face a little so he wasn’t muffled by Hannibal’s tie.

“Not for a long time.”

“Just you and your dogs.”

“Just me and my dogs,” Will agreed. It suddenly sounded so sad, so utterly pathetic to be a grown man with no live-in partner, no partner to speak of. He’d never felt that way about his situation before. He wasn’t sure he liked it.

“You’ve taken on the role of protector for such a long time, you’ve forgotten what it’s like for someone to care for you,” Hannibal said. It was a variation of what he’d been trying to get Will to understand since their first session, but every time he said it, it seemed to ring more true. “You seem much more settled since we started our sessions.”

Will nodded. He hated to admit it, but he nodded, curling his fingers a little tighter around Hannibal’s shoulder.

“You tell me you’re sleeping better,” Hannibal continued. Will nodded again. “But there is more to your health than simple routine. That is survival, I want you to live, Will. I want you to thrive.”

“How?” Will asked, looking up at Hannibal from where he lay pressed against him. He hated that he was asking, he hated that he wanted to know. Surely he hadn’t become the epitome of subservience just because the man had made him come the day before.

God, he’d really done that, hadn’t he?

“Ideally, by taking joy in sessions like these, rather than just relief.” Hannibal’s eyes were dark, knowing. Will shivered under that gaze. He felt, sometimes, like Hannibal could see every secret thought in his head. Like Hannibal was going to see what Will thought of him. “Currently,” Hannibal continued, “You use our sessions as a necessity. A medicated balm to soothe over your aches. I would like, instead, if you could view submission as something pleasurable.”

Will’s cheeks colored. He had certainly taken pleasure in it the day before, and Hannibal knew that. 

“There’s only so much intimacy allowable in a professional relationship,” Will deflected. Despite his words, he found himself leaning into Hannibal again, hiding his embarrassment in the collar of Hannibal’s shirt. He was beginning to associate the notes of Hannibal’s cologne with safety, with security, and Will found his fingers clutching at Hannibal’s jacket of their own accord. 

“We are here to give you the skills to pursue an intimate relationship of your own,” Hannibal said. “And to practice for those occasions, so that they neither overwhelm or upset you. We can simulate intimacy without violating any ethical codes, I assure you.”

That was not the problem. The problem was that Will  _ wanted _ to violate ethical codes, that he wanted Hannibal to take the things that had been taken from Will before.

Perhaps, with Hannibal, those things would be less unpleasant. Maybe even tolerable.

“You are starved for touch,” Hannibal continued, noting every shift and twitch in Will’s body against him. “You are starved for contact. Establishing and maintaining access to both will help you to grow more comfortable in yourself going forward.”

_ Going forward. _ Forward after these sessions, after Hannibal. 

Will wondered if he would be punished for lying if it was to continue this therapy for longer. He wondered what that said about him and his own claim to sanity, to being ‘outside the stereotype’.

“You took our session yesterday home with you,” Hannibal added after a while. “You felt as safe and satisfied here as you feel at home, if not more, yes?”

Will swallowed. “Yes.”

“Perhaps we should repeat the trust exercise,” Hannibal said, a smile easing his sharp features. “Learn through it and adjust our methods for further sessions.”

Will nodded again, cheeks bright and heart racing. The thought of being on his knees, tied up, blindfolded… for Hannibal to look at him, to touch him, to explore--

“Sit up for me,” Hannibal interrupted Will’s thoughts momentarily. Will obediently sat up, setting his hands to the arms of the chair to hold himself up so he didn’t touch Hannibal inappropriately. Though he wanted to, oh, he wanted to. “I’d like you to remove your shirt for me.”

Will blinked. “I’m--”

“You’re welcome to take your time,” Hannibal assured him. “But I would like  _ you _ to bare yourself for this today.”

Will’s hands tightened on the arms of the chair, fingernails scraping at the upholstery. He knew how to do this. It wasn’t like Hannibal had never seen his bare chest before. And yet he could not pry his fingers up from the chair. 

“Slowly,” Hannibal encouraged, “at your own pace.”

One finger at a time, Will lifted his hands. He trembled as he worked open the first button, then the second. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Hannibal.

For a moment, Will was home again, settled in Hannibal’s lap on his own bed, doing this for Hannibal’s pleasure and not for therapy.

A memory surfaced, unbidden.  _ Make it pretty for me, baby.  _ Will flinched.

Hannibal’s hands settled on Will’s hips, holding him secure, grounding him. Will sucked in a slow breath and closed his eyes. He wasn’t back there, five years ago, ten years ago, stumbling over himself to please someone who would never be satisfied. He was at home, with Hannibal, being  _ good _ for his Dom.

_ His Dom. _

Will’s breath shuddered out of him and he continued to undo the buttons. When he reached the bottom of his shirt he shrugged the fabric off himself, letting it fall to the floor behind him, forgotten and unimportant.

He didn’t want to look away from Hannibal as he peeled his undershirt off next, but it was inevitable.

In that one moment, Will was somewhere else, back with rough hands and fetid breath, back where he wasn’t touched softly or looked after properly. Back where he was property, not a human being.

“Stay here with me, Will,” Hannibal murmured, his voice easing Will’s trembling down once more. He let the undershirt slip from his fingers too.

“Where would I go?”

“Tell me,” Hannibal encouraged. Will shook his head, crossing his arms instinctively over his middle. Hannibal didn’t ask him again. Instead, he reached up to stroke his hands over Will’s throat, down to his shoulders, over his arms. Will unfurled for him like a bloom, moving to rest his hands against the chair arms once more, before Hannibal guided him to set his hands to his chest instead.

“What do you know of love languages, Will?”

“Not much,” he admitted, spreading his hands over Hannibal’s chest. He was strong, Will had felt that before, but now he could  _ touch, _ and his mind provided all sorts of wonders for what was beneath the folds of fabric.

“There are five,” Hannibal told him, easing his fingers into Will’s hair as his palm cupped the back of his head. “Words of affirmation, quality time, acts of service, gifts, and physical touch. Each person has these in an order that best expresses how they give and receive affection. For many submissives, and I think, for you, words of affirmation and physical touch are at the fore.”

Will shivered, spreading his thighs a little where he sat. Hannibal’s other hand wrapped around his side, almost tickling. “What does that mean?”

“It means that we have a lot of catching up to do,” Hannibal said. He pulled Will close so their temples touched, and Will instinctively turned his head to breath in Hannibal’s scent. Hannibal let him settle in for a moment, until the tension in his shoulders finally began to ease. Then, Hannibal guided him up again. 

“You need reassurance,” Hannibal told him, “both verbal and physical. Eventually, I hope to have you see them as something you are  _ owed _ , not something you are given merely to sate a need.”

Will had flushed, down his throat, all the way to his chest. His lips had parted and his gaze had already begun to take on that hazy quality of subspace. He sank so easily, now. That no one before Hannibal had seen him for the gift he was was a travesty. 

“Do you want to be good for me, Will?” Hannibal asked, and Will strained against the hand in his hair to nod. 

Hannibal’s instructions, until now, had been simplistic ones.  _ Close your eyes. Be still. Deep breaths. _ Will had blossomed under careful guidance, but now it was time to push, to bring Will closer to the submissive he so clearly yearned to be. 

“I want you to go to the desk,” Hannibal said softly. “Fetch your rope. Bring it back, and present it to me.”

Will made a helpless sound, a little whine that could have been a sound of displeasure as easily as a sound of arousal. Hannibal had a contingency, should this prove too much for Will, but he was almost certain that he would behave.

It took a moment, it took more gentle petting, Hannibal’s eyes hooded as he looked Will over, but Will moved to get out of his lap. He was a little unsteady and stumbled on his way, but by the time he reached the desk he was moving comfortably again. He looked up, seeking reassurance, and Hannibal inclined his head.

The rope was on the desk top, in easy reach and plain view. It was knotted to keep it together, as it had been the day before when Hannibal retrieved it himself. Now, Will reached out to pick it up, moved to hold it against himself before returning to the chair Hannibal sat in.

He hesitated; should he kneel? Should he say something? Hannibal had told him to  _ present it _ to him, and Will had no idea what that meant. In the context of this, the context of them, this was entirely new.

“Come here sweet boy,” Hannibal encouraged him, leaning back to allow Will to climb into his lap again. He held his hand out for the rope. It took Will a moment to set it to his palm, and even then he didn’t let it go. “Would you like me to tie you up, Will?”

Will’s throat clicked and he just blinked at him, embarrassment a gag for what he wanted to say. He nodded slowly.

“Tell me,” Hannibal coaxed him. “Tell me what you’d like me to do, Will.”

_ Be good. _ It was unspoken but it rattled through Will’s bones regardless. Be good.

Will swallowed, his lips moving soundlessly for a moment. Finally, a rasp of a whisper worked its way forth. “I. I’d like you to tie me up. Sir?”

His voice pitched up on the last word, unsure of the title, unsure of  _ himself _ . It was what he’d called other men, less deserving men, but this was a clinical setting. He was meant to be professional. 

Hannibal smiled at him, so soft, so pleased. Will whimpered. 

It took very little time to have Will trussed up again. Hannibal was experienced, and there was no need to go slow; Will’s fear from yesterday had not returned. Once bound, Will settled heavily into Hannibal’s lap, eyes lidded, lips parted. His tongue darted out to wet them, and Hannibal shifted his hold to the strap of the harness just above Will’s arms. 

He stayed like that, waiting, patient. Will began to fuss, and then to squirm, but Hannibal remained silent. Will was clever enough to figure it out, and Hannibal wanted his actions to become second nature. He wanted Will to reach for Hannibal’s dominance without being instructed to do so.

It took several minutes before comprehension slowly dawned on Will’s face. He looked at Hannibal, cheeks red, the beginnings of an erection tenting his pants.

“Please,” he whispered.

“Please, what, sweet boy?”

Will moaned at the pet name. “Touch me,” he pleaded. “Like you did yesterday.”

"Beautiful," Hannibal praised him, reaching out to draw his knuckles down the center of Will's chest. "So good for me."

Will trembled, unable to squirm much or move far, with how Hannibal held him. Not that he wanted to get away, quite the opposite. But Hannibal wouldn't allow that either.

"Communication is the foundation of a safe and healthy connection," Hannibal told him, spreading his hand over Will's stomach and stroking gentle circles over the skin until Will stopped trembling. "It is a common misconception that submissives need to be told, they know very well what they enjoy, and should be encouraged to communicate that freely."

Will whimpered and let his eyes close, arching his back just a little and feeling Hannibal adjust his hold to pull Will closer.

"Communication through body language," he murmured, leaning close enough that Will felt his breath on his skin. "Through spoken word. Even pairs who have been together for decades need to communicate together. A fledgeling relationship will flounder without it."

Will rocked up onto his knees a bit more and sank back down again. Hannibal's words were hypnotic, were warm and reassuring and Will wanted that. He wanted to be heard and to be able to speak and to be able to get what he wanted.

And he wanted Hannibal.

"How does it feel?" Hannibal asked him, drawing the tip of his nose against Will's collarbones as his hand moved up to tickle the skin around Will's nipple.

“Good,” Will squeaked out. Better than good, brilliant, fantastic. Hannibal was barely touching him, and Will was hard. “Don’t stop.” Will hadn’t quite reached ‘demanding,’ not yet, but his voice was high, plaintive,  _ needy _ .

“Close your eyes.” Just like the day before. But unlike the day before, Will obeyed, a thrill rolling through him just from obeying. 

A soft touch to the center of his chest, trailing up, to the side, just above a nipple. Will didn’t realize it was Hannibal’s mouth until his lips parted and he felt the heat of Hannibal’s breath caress his skin. He gasped, eyes opening wide, hips rolling forward to grind himself against Hannibal’s stomach.

This was  _ definitely _ an ethical violation. Had to be. Will was going to ruin this man’s career. He was going to drag him down with him. He-

Hannibal’s hand sank into Will’s hair and  _ tugged _ . “What were you told?”

The sound Will made… were he anywhere near his right mind right then he would have denied it to his grave.

“To close… close my eyes.”

Hannibal hummed, leaning up to whisper the next words into Will’s ear: “Then be a good boy for me, and obey.”

Will did. He was certain he did, despite how vivid the image behind his eyelids was, of Hannibal looking up at him, lips parted, eyes dark--

“Keep them closed for me,” Hannibal told him, hand sliding down to grasp the rope harness again, keeping Will still. “Trust me that I know what is good for you. Trust me that I’ll give you what you need, if you ask me nicely.”

“Please,” Will groaned, thighs tensing where he sat. “Please, I’ll be good.”

Hannibal’s answer was a low laugh that tickled against Will’s chest. It was a tongue, hot and rough, drawing over Will’s peaked nipple. Sparks exploded behind Will’s eyes and he clenched them closed tighter. Being good. Being  _ very _ good. Doing what he was told, by his Dominant, by someone who knew what he needed, could give him what he wanted.

Will’s cock was aching between his legs, caught behind the fly of his jeans, his entire form was trembling with impatience and desire.

“M-more,” he managed, as Hannibal thumbed the nipple he wasn’t tormenting with his mouth, fingertips pressing to Will’s skin. “More, please.”

Hannibal sucked at one peaked bud, then the other. He tugged at one nipple with his teeth while his fingers pinched at the other, and Will let out a humiliating whine.

It had been so long, too long. The last time it had been someone else, the last time it had been anything but Will’s own hand against his skin....

It had hurt. It hadn’t hurt every time, but the last time had been painful. He’d bled. Teeth, sharp and feral and-

“Please,” Will begged, shaking atop Hannibal.

“With me,” Hannibal told him, skirting his lips up Will’s chest to nip at his throat. “You’re here with me, Will. For the next half hour, you belong to me.”

Will let out a soft sob, overwhelmed, craving more. More touch, more  _ time _ . “Yours,” he babbled, “Yours, Sir, keep me.”

“Hush,” Hannibal soothed him, reaching up to stroke Will’s hair, to cup his cheek so Will could nuzzle into it and ground himself. When his breathing was hitching in pleasure once more, not caught tangled in the web of bad memory, Hannibal set about kissing every inch of Will’s skin he could reach, from throat to navel.

He concentrated on the places that stole Will’s breath; the hollow of his throat, just above his right nipple, the curve of his body where his ribs most prominently showed. He kissed with abandon, eyes closed and hands certain as they memorized Will against him, as he took in every sound and every plea like nourishment.

The next time Will sobbed, Hannibal pulled back to soothe him, guiding Will’s head down against his shoulder as he rocked them both gently, murmuring to Will what a good boy he was, how obedient and tender, how sensitive and responsive. As Will started to cry, Hannibal eased a hand between them to cup Will’s erection, encouraging him to rut forward, to give himself the pleasure he was seeking so desperately.

Will was remarkable, fragile and almost feral in his responses. Hannibal could only imagine the things he saw behind his eyes if he flinched at Hannibal’s tone, or the touch of his hand. He wanted nothing more than to claim him, to bring him home and let him sink, to be the one to bring him back up again.

Keep him?

Certainly.

“Come for me,” Hannibal whispered, his own breath hitching as he felt Will grow frantic in his rutting. “Come for me, sweet boy, show me how good you are for me.”

Will’s thighs clenched alongside Hannibal’s own, his arms straining at the ropes that held him. Cries fell from his lips, a constant pleading whine as he chased release against Hannibal’s hand. 

Hannibal had to do very little, in the end. He kept his hand still, fingers curved to cup as Will jerked forward, hips frantic. 

The day before, Hannibal had missed the blissful look on Will’s face when he came. The tension left him, his brow unfurling. He lost himself to the motions, a low moan slipping free as he finally found his release.

It took him a long while to finally slump, his chest heaving as he drooped against Hannibal. He must have been starving for it if his orgasm was so drawn out. Hannibal imagined the way he’d look given a  _ proper _ climax. And then further, pushed beyond the boundaries of pleasure, bound for Hannibal to enjoy, unable to stop him or squirm away. He would be  _ radiant _ in overstimulation. 

But that would be too much, too soon. Instead, Hannibal wrapped both arms around Will, holding him close, holding him  _ together _ , as he struggled to catch his breath. 

“Beautiful,” Hannibal praised. “Obedient. You did so well, sweet boy. I’m proud of you. You did just as you were told.”

Will tried to say something, tried to gather enough brain cells to form words, but all that came out was a gasp, a sob, and then he was crying. Crying like he hadn’t cried in years and years, crying so hard his entire body shook with it, his muscles burning from being pulled so tense. He wept like a child, smearing a mess of spit, tears, and snot over Hannibal’s immaculate clothes.

And all the while, Hannibal held him, hushed him, soothed him. He touched Will’s face and his hair, he lowered his hands to work free the knot that was holding Will’s arms captive behind his back and let Will wriggle free of the bindings, wrapping his arms around Hannibal instead as he continued to cry against him.

Release.

Absolute unrestrained release.

It took long minutes for Will to calm down, long minutes in which he wasn’t alone, in which he wasn’t berated or shamed for his emotions, in which he wasn’t shoved away and forced to come to terms with them himself.

When Will finally managed a breath deep enough to fill his lungs, he sat back shaking, bringing a hand up to wipe at his face. Hannibal offered him his pocket square without a second thought and Will found that almost ridiculously funny.

“I’m s-sorry.”

“How do you feel?” Hannibal asked him, just watching Will put himself together motion by motion. With a sniff Will turned his eyes to Hannibal again, bright and blue and wide as the ocean. He was still floating, still hazy and slow. He was so lovely.

“I’m…” Will sniffed again, licking his lips. “I’m tired,” he admitted. But it was more than that. He felt as though something monumental had happened, something far more intimate than being brought to orgasm in his psychiatrist’s lap.

Hannibal cupped Will’s cheeks, brushing the last stray tear from the corner of his eye. “You worked very hard today,” he said. “You should feel proud of yourself.”

Hannibal had said he was proud of Will. Will could still hear it, echoing. He swallowed, leaning into Hannibal’s palm. 

“Will you be alright to drive home?”

“Yeah,” Will mumbled. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

Hannibal tucked Will’s curls behind his ears. “You’ve come so far, Will. Tomorrow, I think we’ll reward you.”

Will licked his lips. “Yes, please.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Knowing all this,” Hannibal said, “do you wish to enter into another relationship with me? One bound not by the requirements of the FBI, but by our own mutual decisions?”_

When Hannibal opened the door for Will the next day, he was smiling, and Will found himself smiling back, wide and bright, like he never smiled at anyone.

“Come in, Will.”

“Thank you.”

He hung up his jacket and followed Hannibal to their designated chair, and without hesitation moved to climb into the doctor’s lap when he was prompted. Will eased his weight against Hannibal, sighed out and breathed him in and finally settled. When Hannibal rested his hands heavy over Will’s back, he made a soft happy sound and nuzzled closer.

“You’ve been improving exponentially in my care,” Hannibal told him quietly, sliding his hands down to rest against Will’s lower back, just holding him close. “Your progress is stark and encouraging, but I fear that as we’ve reached the point in our professional relationship where the FBI would see you return to work, I would like to discuss other options with you.”

“I don’t want to go,” Will whispered, hands grasping against Hannibal immediately, tension racing down his spine.

“You don’t want to return to work?”

Will shook his head. “Work is work, I don’t care. I don’t… I don’t want to go away from you. From this. From…” Will swallowed and shook his head again. “Please don’t make me go.”

“When you came to me, you were very adamant that you intended to graduate from my care as quickly as possible.”

Will shrugged, self-conscious. He still wasn’t sure he had been experiencing dynamic withdrawal (even if everything  _ was _ a lot better now), but that had been before. Before Hannibal had touched him like he was precious, like he  _ deserved _ it.

Hannibal hummed, turning his head to press his lips against Will’s hair. “We’ve reached the limits of what I can do for you as a doctor.”

Will let out a whimper, biting back a louder, needier sob. Hannibal hushed him. 

“Whatever we do from here on out, it will no longer be within the bounds of a professional relationship.”

Will sucked in a breath. He was sure, for a moment, he’d imagined it. Made up Hannibal’s response in a fit of delusional hopefulness.

But then Hannibal’s lips brushed his temple, his cheek. Will exhaled with a shudder. 

“We would have to write up a contract,” Hannibal murmured against his cheek. “And discuss how our expectations line up. I’d want you to wear a collar, for example.”

Will made a soft sound and gently eased himself back far enough so he could see Hannibal properly. He kept his hands on Hannibal’s chest, feeling his pulse, steady and slow. He swallowed.

“A collar?”

“Yes,” Hannibal blinked, resting a hand warm against Will’s thigh as he kept his eyes up. “It is the ultimate show of trust, and a way to keep you safe.”

Will swallowed again. “Safe?”

“While I have no power over Dominants you work with, a collar would deter any unwelcome advances, advice, or misinformation from them. A collared submissive is under the protection of their Dominant. Legal action can be taken should someone overstep their bounds.”

Will knew that. He’d read about several cases of infringement of rights that had gone as far as the high court. He’d even known some to have been found in favor of the submissive. He’d just never considered that he would be someone who would wear a collar, someone who would so publicly admit to who he was.

“I can take care of myself,” Will offered weakly, a vestigial pride rearing up for a moment before he stifled it back down. Hannibal didn’t seem offended.

“You can,” he agreed. “It isn’t you I have no faith in, sweet boy, it is others.”

Will nodded stiffly and licked his lips. He was sitting in Hannibal’s lap, discussing the rest of his life with him. With  _ him. _ Not alone, not with follow up appointments, but with a Dominant who wanted Will as his own, and who  _ Will wanted. _

“What else?” He asked softly. Hannibal reached up to cup Will’s face, stroking his thumb against his cheek.

“Tell me what you want out of our relationship,” Hannibal asked instead. “Tell me what you feel you need from me, what you feel I can give you.”

“This,” Will said immediately, sliding his hands up to clutch at Hannibal’s shoulders. “And…”

He didn’t know. He was entirely unprepared to make demands like this, or requests. Will had resigned himself to never having another long-term Dominant, embraced it. 

He couldn’t have said what he wanted out of this, nor what he needed. Most of the things he’d tried with previous partners had come with downsides, and while Hannibal had begun to give Will new, positive associations, Will was hesitant to suggest anything himself.

It couldn’t  _ all _ be secretly good. Will had to be right about  _ some _ of it.

What did it say about him, if he wasn’t? If these things could be good with the right Dom, how had Will so consistently chosen the wrong ones? And why had he  _ stayed--  _ It had to be bad. At least a little.

Will had gone quiet. He flushed when he realized, ducking his head to avoid Hannibal’s patient gaze. “I don’t know what to ask for,” he admitted. “Not like  _ that _ . Not anything dynamic-wise. I… I’d want to keep my job. I can’t stay home and be decorative. It would kill me.”

“I would not take your work from you,” Hannibal assured him. “Nor the things you find pleasurable. Your dogs, fishing, the hobbies you currently enjoy. I’ve no desire to change you, Will, merely help you become the best you can be.”

It sounded so trite, and Will bit his tongue not to point it out. He wanted that, though, he wanted to feel like he was growing as a person, that he was becoming something and someone desirable and wanted, he wanted to feel worthy of a Dominant like Hannibal.

“I will give you a routine,” Hannibal continued, letting his eyes draw over Will’s jawline while he held his hands unmoving against Will’s form. “A schedule I expect you to follow. I will implement a dietary regimen to ensure you eat properly and often enough to feel sated and energetic. I will help you find restful sleep.”

Will swallowed and pressed his face against Hannibal’s shoulder again, trembling slightly. The thought of all that alone made his knees weak, the thought that Hannibal had considered this before, that he had already found ways to schedule Will into his life…

“Please,” he agreed quietly.

Hannibal hummed and drew his hands up Will’s back to hook his fingers over his shoulders.

“As for sexual gratification,” Hannibal continued, gently but deliberately pulling Will back so they could face each other. “We will discuss together the things you enjoy and those you do not tolerate. Certain things you fear you may come to enjoy, with me, and we will discuss those also. However, a cardinal rule for  _ my  _ submissive is that he finds pleasure only with me. At my hand, my word, or my command. This is paramount, Will, if you cannot abide by this we move no further with our negotiations.”

Will’s face scrunched up, confusion overshadowing the joy he’d begun to feel. “Yeah…” he said slowly, “Why wouldn’t I? I thought… I just assumed we would be exclusive. The both of us.”

It took a moment, during which Hannibal’s own brow furrowed, but slowly, a smile overtook his features. “Oh, sweet boy,” He said, twisting his fingers in Will’s hair and tugging to bare his throat. Will went easily, shivering as Hannibal’s lips brushed over his fluttering pulse. “Of course you can expect fidelity, as will I, but that’s not quite what I meant.”

“Hmm?” Will’s eyes fluttered closed, his body going lax under Hannibal’s touch. Hannibal trailed kisses up to his ear, tugging teasingly at the lobe with his teeth. 

“My idea of fidelity is far more severe than most,” he murmured, his breath against Will’s ear making Will shiver. “You won’t be allowed to seek pleasure in  _ yourself _ , not without my explicit permission and instruction.”

“Oh,” Will whispered, and then louder, when it fully hit him. “ _ Oh.” _

Masturbation had been Will’s only release for years. It wasn’t a pressing need, but he sought out that comfort at least a couple of times a week. The thought of not being allowed, of holding that back…

“You won’t be given permission often,” Hannibal continued, the hand not in Will’s hair pressing at the small of his back to bring him closer. “I find obedience comes easier if treats are properly earned, rather than freely given.”

Will whimpered, his body moving of its own accord, hips rolling down to meet Hannibal’s own. He could feel Hannibal’s enjoyment, his pleasure, as surely as he felt his own. 

“But you will find that there are many things we can do together that are pleasurable, besides.” Hannibal assured him, kissing beneath Will’s jaw. “I am not a cruel man, Will, nor do I enjoy punishment for punishment’s sake. But I have high expectations.”

Will shivered, curling his fingers in Hannibal’s shirt gently, spreading his thighs as much as he was able.

“I’ll be good,” he promised quietly. “I’ll try, I’ll--”

“I know you will,” Hannibal purred, pulling back to look at Will again, the hand in his hair guiding Will down just enough for their eyes to comfortably meet. There was no malice in his gaze, nor any teasing. He had shown himself to be a harsh but fair Dominant in a professional setting. In private…

“I rarely take a submissive,” Hannibal told Will quietly, “and I rarely keep those I take for long. It’s incredibly difficult to keep my attention and affections yet you, dear Will, have had me distracted and enamored.”

Will swallowed, cheeks warming at the thought, body sparking with pleasure and pride. He wanted to kiss Hannibal, he wanted to kiss him more than anything else on earth. When Hannibal blinked, tilted his head, drew the tip of his tongue against the corner of his mouth, Will whimpered softly.

“Knowing all this,” Hannibal said, “do you wish to enter into another relationship with me? One bound not by the requirements of the FBI, but by our own mutual decisions?”

The hand in Will’s hair gripped him too tight to nod. Too tight to surge forward and steal the kiss he so desperately wanted. A week ago, Will would have fought the hand that held him. He would have taken what he wanted, consequences be damned.

But there was a flutter in his stomach that only came from being good for Hannibal. A soft pleasure that Will had learned to appreciate, to give himself over to. 

“Please,” he whispered. “I want it. I want it so much. Sir.”

The words felt clumsy. Will was unpracticed when it came to respect, deference,  _ submission _ . Hannibal had never seemed to find it off-putting, though. His smile was pleased, showing just a hint of teeth in a way that made Will’s pulse quicken. 

“You’ll sign a contract,” Hannibal said. “You’ll read it aloud for me, because I want to hear your voice shape the words. I want to know you understand what we’ve agreed upon, and I want to see the pleasure it brings you to think about it. And then you’ll come home with me. We’ll call a sitter for the dogs and work out the best plan for them later, but for the next few days, I’ll want you to be able to adjust free of distractions. If we’re to do this, I want you to fully understand and embrace it.”

Will made another helpless sound and closed his eyes; the closest to a nod he could manage as Hannibal held him.

"Yes, Sir," he sighed. "Thank you, Sir."

Hannibal hummed, pleased, and tugged Will close to kiss him, finally, deeply; how he had wanted to kiss Will for weeks, how he knew Will deserved to be kissed all his life.

Will whined, surprised and trembling, opening his mouth to the kiss and allowing his hands to spread over Hannibal's suit. The heartbeat beneath his palms was steady and strong, and Will wanted to give him absolutely everything. When he was allowed to breathe, he immediately turned his face to nuzzle their noses together.

"Sweet boy," Hannibal praised him, gently scratching Will's scalp. "Beautiful boy."

For several long moments, they just sat together, Hannibal holding Will against himself and allowing him to explore the innocent pleasure of intimacy. Nuzzles, nudges, rubs of cheek against cheek, as though Will were an oversized feline. How touch starved he had been all his life, Hannibal lamented as he kissed Will's temple. He would fix that.

"I've taken the liberty of writing up a preliminary contract for us," Hannibal murmured after a while. "We will adjust the specifics together as you read it to me."

Will nodded against him, reluctant to pull away. Hannibal allowed him a moment more of closeness before gently easing him back.

"It's on the table, Will. Please get it for me."

It was worded like a request, but Will heard the firm instruction in Hannibal’s tone. He was learning to recognize the shifts in his voice, what was teasing and what was guiding, when he was asking and when he was telling.

It felt good to just let himself answer. Before, Will would have resisted. He might have told Hannibal to get it himself, or gotten it but otherwise inconvenienced Hannibal by damaging the papers or wandering off, to make him regret sending Will. 

Will couldn’t remember the last time he’d obeyed an order without bristling. The last time he hadn’t fought back.

The contract was several sheets of paper, stapled together. Will’s name stood out at the top. He found himself scanning the words as he wandered back, face heated, lips parted. It was only when Hannibal gripped Will’s hips and tugged him back into his lap that Will was able to tear himself away.

“This is… It’s a lot,” Will murmured. 

“Is it?”

“You offer to ‘provide for any and all of my needs,’” Will said, jabbing his finger at the line in question. “Including anything needed for the dogs. I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking,” Hannibal replied, amusement tilting his tone. “I’m insisting.”

“But I can work…” Will mumbled, lifting his eyes to Hannibal again. “You said that… I could work?”

“Of course,” Hannibal just blinked at him. “But with me there will be no need for you to work to pay the bills, you may do so at your leisure and pleasure instead.”

Will swallowed and flipped the page, letting his eyes skim over the rest of the contract, cheeks growing more and more red the further he got into it.

“Whatever makes you uncomfortable,” Hannibal assured him, gently stroking Will’s back, “we will amend, adjust, or remove entirely.”

“I’ve never--” Will bit his lip and flipped the contract back to its first page again. Hannibal set a hand against Will’s cheek.

“You’ve never been treated properly,” he said, and there was that anger again, just bubbling below the surface. “Nor have you been allowed to express yourself freely. That ends today.”

Will nodded, eyes seeking between Hannibal’s own. Then he leaned in, carefully, slowly, in case he wasn’t allowed, in case Hannibal wanted to stop him, and pressed his lips to Hannibal’s again.

This kiss wasn’t as claiming as the first, though hardly less intimate. It was a reassurance, a promise. When Will pulled back he sighed, looking down at the pages in his hand once more.

“Should I read it?”

“Not quite yet,” Hannibal smiled. Then he reached up and started to work open Will’s shirt, as he had the day before, and the day before that. “I rather enjoy seeing you bare. And so, once you are,  _ then _ you will read the contract for me.”

Nudity was different like this than it was when Will was already sinking into the pleasant haze of subspace. Now, he was aware of himself, of the brush of fabric against his skin as Hannibal slid his shirt down over his arms. 

He was  _ very _ aware of the sound of his belt as Hannibal tugged it through the belt loops, folding it and setting it aside on the table next to his chair. As if he might need it. 

“What about you?” Will whispered when Hannibal guided him to stand and began to work his pants and underwear down his legs. It put Hannibal at eye level with Will’s cock, and to his abject mortification, he began to stiffen. 

“Perhaps later,” Hannibal said, guiding one foot free, and then the other. “If you’re good.”

When he pulled back, it was with a predatory smile on his face. He’d noticed Will’s response, there was no way he hadn’t, and the attention made Will’s cock twitch.

It was not the first time he’d been bare before Hannibal, or even the first time he’d straddled Hannibal’s clothed thighs, but there was a new awareness coloring the situation. Before, Hannibal had not been something Will was allowed to have. Now, he wanted to have  _ Will _ , and the feel of his pressed suit against Will’s naked skin bore a promise that had Will’s mouth dry. 

“Ask any questions,” Hannibal assured him, leaning in to kiss just above Will’s nipple. “I want you to be open with me. We aren’t under the contract until we both agree to its terms and sign it, and I would like you to be honest if something confuses or concerns you.”

Will made a small sound and nodded quickly, holding the paper out with one hand as the other cautiously reached for Hannibal’s shoulder.

“Can I touch you?” He asked. Hannibal kissed him again, just to the left of where he’d kissed before.

“You may,” he said. So Will did, spreading his fingers through the hair at the base of Hannibal’s neck as he took a breath and started to read.

“I, William H Graham, hereafter known as the Submissive…” he read through the technical details without issue. His name, and Hannibal’s -- he was a  _ count, _ for fuck’s sake -- their ages and dynamics. He read through the commonly known definitions of Dominant and Submissive and the legal rights both parties possessed under state and federal law.

Technicalities were easy, just data and impersonal information. What came next was what gave Will pause.

That and Hannibal’s distracting mouth, seeking over Will’s skin with seemingly no pattern or end goal in mind.

“‘The Submissive will address his Dominant in the appropriate manner at all times.’” Will read, taking a moment to catch his breath before licking his lips and asking: “What does appropriate imply?”

“You may address me by my name when we are alone, and unless I have otherwise asked you,” Hannibal replied. “Once we have established ourselves as a pair in public, I will allow you to use my name then, as well. Until that time, you will address me as Sir when we are out in public.”

Will let out a shallow little breath and nodded. “Okay. Uh, thank you Sir.”

“Hannibal,” Hannibal smiled, looking up at him. “Just Hannibal is fine, Will.”

“Hannibal.” 

Sir was fine. Sir was  _ great _ , actually. Surprisingly so. But Hannibal’s name sat perfectly on Will’s tongue, gave him shivers when he said it. 

He’d never wanted anyone like this before. Not even when he’d been young and stupid and trusted Doms when they told him how sweet he was. 

“The Submissive will adhere to a schedule,” Will said. “He will eat regular meals in accordance-” Hannibal’s lips found a sensitive spot on Will’s throat. He whimpered, tilting his head back and struggling to find his place again. “In a-accordance with his dietary requirements. He will be in bed-” Will frowned, face scrunched up. 

“Keep going,” Hannibal said, his lips caressing that same spot, as if he intended to bring Will to pieces from just that. 

“He will be in bed nine hours before his alarm-- You can’t give me a bedtime, Hannibal. I’m in my thirties.”

“And you can’t manage a sleep schedule,” Hannibal pointed out, glancing up at Will. “Let alone a healthy one. So I will manage it for you.”

“But I… that’s embarrassing.”

“Perhaps,” Hannibal’s eyes narrowed just so. “But you will adhere to it, won’t you.”

Will swallowed. He knew it wasn’t a question. And in the grand scheme of things it wasn’t the worst thing that could be asked of him. Besides, no one else had to know, it wasn’t as though he and Hannibal would discuss it in public.

Hannibal’s lips didn’t touch Will’s skin again until he started reading once more, and this time his hands moved to distract Will as well, teasing tickling over his thighs.

“The Submissive will receive nightly maintenance spankings-- still?”

“Yes.”

“But… why?”

“Several reasons,” Hannibal curled his fingers behind Will’s knees and tucked him closer against himself as he sat back to admire the blush that had flooded from Will’s cheeks down to his throat. “Firstly, it grounds you, reminds you of your place and my protection.”

“And secondly?”

“Secondly,” Hannibal smiled. “I thoroughly enjoy administering it. And if your responses to date are anything to go by, you enjoy receiving them just as much.”

Will swallowed thickly, his cock twitching up against his belly. He refused to look down at it, knew that even though Hannibal kept his eyes on Will’s he could sense the movement too, probably even feel it. Will couldn’t lie about this even if he wanted to. Instead, he turned the page of the contract.

They went over financial support; adjusting a few things to make Will feel less like a kept thing and more like a partner, though Hannibal was adamant that he be allowed to spoil Will as he saw fit, with food, clothing, and presents of his choosing. He added an addendum that Will could return any gift he felt he didn’t like, without repercussion.

“That’s just making it worse,” Will argued. “Then I’m ungrateful.”

“I promise you, that won’t be how I think of it,” Hannibal told him, cupping Will’s jaw. “I intend to provide for you  _ thoroughly, _ Will, it would be impossible for you to like everything.”

“I don’t know where you think you’re gonna put a bunch of stuff,” Will muttered, eyes downcast, a pleased grin slowly tugging at his lips. 

“I’ll manage.”

Hannibal made no mention of forcing Will to downsize on his dogs--though he expected them to be impeccably trained-- nor selling his house.

“My intention is not to make you feel trapped,” Hannibal told him. “Although ideally, you would eventually sell it. For now, you need to know you have a place to retreat to, even if you don’t use it. And the dogs need a place to stay until we’ve prepared the house for them.”

After that, there were lists. Several pages of them. Punishments, rewards, limits-- Hannibal had very few-- all with lines for Will to provide his own. 

“Whatever you want,” Will said, flipping forward to the signature page without reading any of them. “I’m not picky.”

Hannibal caught his wrist with one hand and his jaw with the other, turning Will’s face to him. Will shivered at the look. It brooked no argument, no mercy; Will was  _ going _ to provide his own limits, he was  _ going _ to admit to having some.

“I don’t know,” he admitted softly. Hannibal’s fingers pressed a little tighter to Will’s cheeks before he let him go and took the pages from Will, flipping them back to the lists. He took a pen from inside his jacket and uncapped it, raising his eyes to Will expectantly. Will swallowed.

“I’ve never had to choose before,” Will tried again, helpless. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what Hannibal wanted him to do. Wasn’t the idea of the entire contract that the Dominant decides? Wasn’t the entire concept of submission to just… go with it?

“Then I shall set initial limits and we will work together in establishing whether my estimates were correct,” Hannibal said. Will swallowed and nodded. With a hum, Hannibal turned to the list.

“You’ve made it clear you enjoy pain,” he said after a moment, “I shall keep certain punishments on the list as we test your tolerance, however, I believe with you a punishment is better learned from if it leaves you vulnerable. Humiliation,” Hannibal flicked his eyes up to Will as the other tensed his thighs around Hannibal’s own and rocked forward incrementally, his cock red and hard between them. He was leaving smears of precome over Hannibal’s impeccable clothes.

“A peg on your tongue, nudity, certain bondage positions… restrictions on pleasures such as your own release, I’ve found, are also incredibly effective. Once we have established ourselves in public, I may return to more rudimentary discipline such as a public spanking on the bare, but until then these should suffice.”

Will was quivering, eyes wide and face flushed hot. In public?? Even the thought made him ache with need and panic in equal measure. When Hannibal looked up after writing his observations down, he handed the page to Will again.

“Read these aloud for me,” he said.

“You just told me them,” Will said, eyes scanning the list. 

“And now I want you to repeat them.” Hannibal’s hand skimmed down Will’s spine, cupping his ass, as much a threat as it was a comfort. Will swallowed. 

“Humiliation,” He said. “Gags, including pegs. Nudity.” A thought dawned on Will. He glanced down at his body, at his embarrassingly hard cock. “Am I in trouble right now?”

“Not yet,” Hannibal assured him. “Certain tools are very versatile. I look forward to figuring out at what point punishment becomes pleasure, for you. Continue.”

Will blinked at him. He didn’t know what to say to that. He had no frame of reference, beyond Hannibal.

He’d come so hard being spanked, though. 

“Orgasm denial,” Will said slowly. “And… forced orgasms? That… Doesn’t sound like much of a punishment.”

"You may yet eat your words, Will," Hannibal replied, and Will swallowed. He returned his eyes to the page and continued reading. Punishments smoothly flowed into specific kinks, and each that Will read made his body light up just imagining them.

When Hannibal moved to tweak a nipple between two fingers, Will gasped and tried to pull away, finding that the pressure only increased when he did. Hannibal tilted his head, and Will wordlessly obeyed and stayed still. Pleased, Hannibal leaned in to bite lightly against the untouched nipple until Will was shaking in his lap, crunching the paper between his fingers.

"You smell exquisite when you're aching," Hannibal murmured, twisting his fingers before letting Will go. He barely had a moment to catch his breath before Hannibal's fingers wrapped around his cock and started to stroke him.

"Oh, God."

"Beautiful thing," Hannibal praised him. Then he stilled his hand, and Will whined, desperate and needy. He arched his back and drove his cock through the circle of Hannibal's fingers. When he wasn't stopped, he started a jerking rhythm, grasping Hannibal's shoulders to hold himself balanced as he fucked shamelessly into Hannibal's hand.

Will closed his eyes on a moan and immediately felt Hannibal's free hand slap him across the face. It wasn't painful, but it was very clear.

Look.

Watch.

_ See. _

"I'm close," Will whispered, and Hannibal hummed, grasping Will's hair to tug tight, bending him beautifully back over his knees, Will still helplessly pumping his hips up, chasing his pleasure.

"I'm gonna--"

"You shan't," Hannibal told him, voice steely. He tightened his grip on Will's cock, just beneath the head, and dragged a thumb across the leaking slit. "Without my permission, you will remain as you are. Besides, you've the last part of the document to read."

"Please, I'm --"

"Read, Will."

He didn’t release Will’s hair, or his cock. He kept him suspended there, trapped in that arch. Will had to hold the pages up above his head, eyes scanning. He read the same line three times before he was able to focus, and only then did he start to stammer. 

“The Submissive will dress in clothes provided to him by the Dominant.” That was only a little surprising. Will fully intended to put up a fuss if Hannibal attempted to rid him of his flannels. “He will wear his collar full time. If necessary to have it removed, he will ask permission, first. He-”

Hannibal’s hand slipped from Will’s hair to his throat, cupping the side, thumb rubbing over Will’s Adam’s apple. He didn’t apply any pressure, and yet Will could barely breathe. 

“The… The S-Submissive will always be subservient and deferential in public, until a specific dynamic has been established, at which point the contract will be amended. Oh  _ fuck _ .”

As the last line slipped from Will’s lips, Hannibal’s hand began to move again, a slow, tormenting stroke that had Will vibrating in his lap. 

Will clung to Hannibal with his free hand, let his eyes close and his mouth open, panting breathy, needy sounds into the room. When Hannibal leaned in to kiss his sternum, hand still torturously slow, Will whimpered.

“Please… Hannibal please--”

“Do you agree to everything you’ve read?”

“Yes, yes I do, I really do--”

“When I say,” Hannibal murmured, “you will come for me, thank me, and sign the contract. Do you understand?”

_ “Yes!” _ Will was shaking, he was sweating, he was seeing white at the edges of his vision, he was so, so close--

“Come for me, Will.”

Will didn’t need to be told twice. His orgasm pulsed from him in a way that was almost painful; he felt like he was pouring his goddamn soul out of his body, he felt weightless, euphoric, high as a kite.

When he blinked his eyes open, he was pressed to Hannibal’s chest once more, and familiar heavy hands were stroking his hair, his shoulders, his back.

“Good boy,” Hannibal whispered. “Such an obedient thing you are,”

Will shivered at the words, found a smile growing wide on his lips before he pushed himself up enough to set a hand to Hannibal’s cheek and kiss him.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, smiling when Hannibal breathed something against his lips that Will couldn’t hear nor understand, and kissed him again. Blindly, he held his hand out for the pen Hannibal had corrected their contract with, and when he freed himself reluctantly from the kiss, he straightened out the pages he’d crumpled in his shaking hands, and signed his name.


	6. Chapter 6

The logistics took a day to work out. Will went home, where he arranged for his dogs to be taken care of, packed a suitcase, and slept poorly. Hannibal lingered on his skin. The tender soreness from his spankings always stuck with Will, but that night, Will felt him  _ everywhere _ . He imagined the slide of Hannibal’s suit between his thighs, the crisp button-down under his hands. Will ached. 

As far as Will was concerned, their dynamic would technically begin when Will walked through Hannibal’s door the next day, but he knew Hannibal wouldn’t agree. If he touched himself now, he’d be starting off on the wrong foot. He’d had enough of that to last a lifetime. 

Instead, Will lay awake, staring up at the ceiling, ignoring the heat in the pit of his stomach. He worried. He was particularly good at it, after years of practice.

So far, Hannibal had been unlike Will’s previous Doms -- not that two was a wide sample to begin with. Still, both of those had been long term, live-in relationships that had started off sweet and quickly soured. There was a chance this would be the same, though the beginnings were already more promising than the entirety of Will’s sexual experience. 

Or perhaps it would be different. Perhaps Hannibal’s intentions were genuine. In that case, the common denominator in Will’s relationships was Will himself. He was certain, given the opportunity, he would ruin this as quickly and thoroughly as he had ruined other things. 

It was a long night.

He didn’t know if he woke or merely rose when the sky beyond the window started to grow lighter, and drank his coffee mechanically. It was far too early for Hannibal to call him, and Will had far too much energy buzzing in his system to merely wait. So he did something he hadn’t done since training for the academy: he put on some baggy shorts and an old shirt and went for a run.

He ran along the road, facing the oncoming traffic, though there was none to be seen, and tried not to think. Thinking led to unpleasant places in his mind, places he didn’t want to reach yet knew that Hannibal would find and dig his fingers into. He ran until his muscles ached, then he turned around and walked back home.

By the time he arrived he was sufficiently tired and he felt like he could breathe again.

The message from Hannibal arrived when Will was in the shower, and advised him of the address Will was to go to.

Suddenly, all thought of making breakfast, all thought of taking his time to get ready slipped from Will’s mind. He dressed in the clothes he’d laid out for himself the night before, the nicest things he owned, and combed his hair with his fingers as he rushed out the door.

Hannibal’s home suited him perfectly: it was ostentatious and expensive, and stood brooding among the other houses on the street. Will swallowed and locked his car, eyes on the house’s windows until he passed under the overhang and couldn’t see them anymore. Then, only then did he look at the door.

Beyond that door was his Dominant, by contract. Beyond that door was a man who seemed to truly want to make Will the submissive he had the potential to become. Beyond that door… god, Will hoped to hell that beyond that door he would feel something like what he felt in Hannibal’s office. More. He hoped that he felt so much more.

Will knocked, and only then realized that he hadn’t shaved; his cheeks and chin rough with stubble. When Hannibal opened the door, it was to Will with one hand over his mouth, face pink. He tilted his head with a curious smile. 

“I meant to clean up more,” Will explained. “But I--”

Hannibal’s eyes were knowing. Will swallowed the rest of his sentence. He’d very nearly sped here-- anyone who knew the highways would know he’d left the very moment he received permission to do so. Desperate. 

“No matter,” Hannibal said, opening the door wider to usher Will inside. “We’ll take care of it together, later.”

“Together?” Will’s voice was soft, hesitant. It sounded unfamiliar to his own ears. Everything about the way he felt with Hannibal was unfamiliar. 

Hannibal’s hand found the small of Will’s back, warm and firm as he guided Will forward. “If I’m to hold expectations for you, it seems only fair that I help you to meet them.”

Will imagined Hannibal’s hand on his chin, guiding his head up so that Hannibal could run the razor over his jaw. An intimacy that had Will’s knees weak, trust that he had not ever before offered someone. Will swallowed. 

Inside, Hannibal’s home was spacious and quiet; Will could hear the sounds of string instruments playing out through unseen speakers in another room and wondered what he’d pulled Hannibal from.

“Did you rest well?” Hannibal asked him, leading Will through the foyer and upstairs.

“Honestly? Not really.” Will admitted with a breathy little laugh. “I was distracted. Couldn’t stop thinking.”

“What did you think about?”

“Everything,” Will gave Hannibal a look out the corner of his eye. He couldn’t fight a smile. Hannibal’s expression was open and warm, and his eyes were narrowed just enough to suggest a smile was soon to be earned.

Will found that he certainly wanted to earn it.

“I was thinking about what the first day would be like,” Will continued when Hannibal didn’t interrupt him with another question, just led them on into a bedroom where Will dropped his duffel bag to the bed. “What you’d make me do, what I  _ should _ be doing…”

“Everything we do as a pair, we will do together,” Hannibal amended Will’s wording gently. “You remember our contract. Your wellbeing is of paramount importance to me, as is your comfort and enjoyment. There will be strict rules, but they will be made with your input and your growth in mind.”

Will shivered at the words, and nodded. He remembered the contract. He wondered if he’d ever be able to forget. He fidgeted a moment before shoving his hands into his pockets and rocking forward on his feet. He didn’t know what to do now, and he had no idea how to ask. And he knew, he was absolutely certain, that Hannibal wouldn’t be the one to broach the subject. He’d make Will do it.

“I don’t…” Will bit his lip and sighed, looking at Hannibal helplessly. They weren’t in the office, this wasn’t a consultation. This was something else. Something new. Something wonderful and terrifying in equal measure. “I’m not sure what to do right now.”

“What would you like to do?” Hannibal asked, stepping closer. Will swallowed.

“I’d like to kiss you,” he admitted. “And be close. But this isn’t… we’re not…”

“We aren’t what?” Hannibal’s eyes pinned Will, made him feel seen. As if he could not possibly have hidden anything from Hannibal.

He already knew everything Will was thinking, Will was sure. He just wanted to hear Will say it out loud. 

“It’s not like the office,” Will murmured. “It’s not a scene. It’s… I don’t know what this is.”

Hannibal’s hand cupped Will’s chin, tilting it up. “Consider this an extension of our sessions,” He said, his thumb gentle against Will’s lower lip. “I would expect you to defer to me at all times, so it follows that you should indulge the same behaviors you’ve been expected to demonstrate up until now.”

Will swallowed. He wanted to. There were a thousand different impulses tugging at him, a need to kneel, to beg, to throw himself at Hannibal. 

To strip right there in the goddamn hallway. 

“So, I can…?”

“Have I ever denied you something you truly needed?”

Will swallowed, shaking his head. No. In the office Hannibal hadn’t denied him anything Will had wanted. He’d always preempted what Will had wanted, he’d given Will things he didn’t even know he’d wanted. And now… now there was a contract, now there was expectation, now there was possibility.

To grow, to evolve, to become something better.

Will sighed out and leaned closer, closing the space between them as he kissed Hannibal. 

It felt right, warm, natural. It felt like something Will should have been doing all his life, up til now, and something he wanted to do all his life going forward. He reached out to rest a hand on Hannibal’s chest, and the other welcomed him closer with an arm around his shoulders, fingers in his hair.

Hannibal kissed Will back with just as much desire; Will could feel the strength in him, coiled like a spring, vibrating beneath his fingertips.

When they parted, Will turned his head in a nuzzle that Hannibal not only welcomed but indulged in himself, drawing his smooth cheek against Will’s stubble in a way that felt incredibly possessive.

“When we are together, you are welcome to seek closeness, intimacy, whatever drives you in the moment,” Hannibal murmured to him, as Will damn near melted against him. “In the privacy of our homes, I want you to be entirely yourself, faults and all. Ask me questions, seek answers, challenge decisions if you feel they need to be challenged, but,” he tugged Will’s hair just enough to draw him back, for their eyes to meet. “Be respectful. Remember who we are to each other.”

“Who are we?” Will asked.

Hannibal’s smile burned slow like cinnamon. “A Dominant and submissive pair,” he said. “For as long as we both wish to be.”

Warmth stirred in Will’s chest. He wanted, he  _ wanted _ , for the first time in years. 

And he could have. He could take. Hannibal was offering up contact, interaction,  _ intimacy _ , for Will to indulge in as he liked. Will felt gluttonous, as his arm tightened around Hannibal, as his other hand slid to his back, so that he could erase the distance between them, clinging. 

It wasn’t as though Will’s previous dalliances had been lacking in affection. It was just that it had always been something that needed to be earned. Never had it been something that was Will’s by  _ right _ , that he could have as much of as he wanted. Will tucked his nose under Hannibal’s jaw, taking in deep lungfuls of his cologne, of the musk of his natural scent beneath that. 

“Such a sweet boy,” Hannibal murmured, his voice low in Will’s ear, sending a shudder down his spine. His palm found Will’s lower back, just above the curve of his ass, close enough to tease. 

“I don’t know where to start,” Will admitted, lips brushing against Hannibal’s pulse. “I want so many things.”

“Perhaps we start with lunch,” Hannibal suggested, “And then, afterwards, you’ll allow me to take you under.”

Will pulled back, eyes wide, bright. “I’m not hungry,” he said breathlessly. 

Hannibal set both hands to Will’s face, cupping his cheeks gently. “You’ll eat,” he said, kissing the tip of Will’s nose.

“But I’m not--”

“You’re under contract to,” Hannibal told him, eyes narrowed in delight. Will snorted softly.

“Will you hold that over me forever?”

“For as long as it takes,” Hannibal said. “Come. I’ll show you the rest of the house.”

Will wondered if this was some kind of test. He was allowed to touch Hannibal -- in fact, he didn’t let go of his hand the entire time they toured, literally toured, this place -- but he wasn’t allowed to skip  _ lunch. _

It didn’t bother Will that Hannibal wanted to feed him, hell, very few things bothered him at the moment, but one was that he wasn’t being given what he wanted immediately. That was new too. Usually when Will was with a Dominant they didn’t want to do anything with him but play and fuck. That was the understanding between them, and had always been, before Hannibal: you’re lesser, you’re here for my enjoyment, and when I’m done, you can go.

But Hannibal… Hannibal was damn near courting him.

He wanted to feed Will, to clothe him, to pamper him.

Will hoped like hell that he also wanted to fuck him, because he would go out of his mind otherwise.

Lunch, it turned out, was delicious. And watching Hannibal respond to quite literally nothing more than Will  _ eating _ and  _ enjoying himself _ was strangely comforting as well. It was clear here, where it wasn’t in an office setting, that Hannibal took immense pleasure in being Dominant  _ with _ someone.

He kept Will at the center of his focus. He pulled out Will’s seat, poured his water. Instructed him to take another bite whenever they got caught up in their conversation. It was a steady stream of interaction, one that never let Will forget the dynamic between them. The heat within Will ramped up, moment by moment, until even Hannibal’s slight smile had him flushed.

When the last bite was gone, when Hannibal  _ finally _ cleared the table, Will could barely breathe. He hovered in the doorway to the kitchen, watching with impatience as Hannibal slowly scrubbed every dish. When he turned, his smile had tilted into more of a smirk. 

“You said,” Will whispered, hardly believing his own daring. He was very close to  _ demanding _ , as if he wasn’t the submissive in the room. “You said, after lunch.”

“I did,” Hannibal agreed. “Do you remember where the bedroom is?”

“Yes,” Will said, immediately. How could he not? The bed, so large and inviting. The heavy curtains over the windows, sealing the room and creating a dim, comforting atmosphere. It was all he could think about.

“I want you to go and undress yourself,” Hannibal said, “and put your things in the laundry basket. Then I want you to kneel beside the bed and wait for me. There will be a rug for your comfort.”

Will didn’t know what to do with himself, he was overwhelmed for a moment with so many fantasies, and so much anticipation that he was mute with it. Then the moment passed, he took a breath and didn’t even bother to hide his smile.

“Thank you,” he said, before damn near sprinting up the stairs.

The room felt enormous without Hannibal in it, and Will allowed himself to make a sound, just barely heard, just barely there, as he took it all in again. He undressed without a hint of shame, and wondered why he used to feel hesitant at baring himself like this. Someone had told him more than once that he wasn’t much to look at, and he’d kept that with him, at the back of his mind.

Perhaps once Hannibal returned and  _ saw _ him Will would feel a little less confident, but even in that he wasn’t certain.

All he was certain of was that he wanted Hannibal, desperately, and that he wanted to be good for him. He wanted to be so, so good for him.

He knelt by the bed and allowed himself just a moment to rest his head against the sheets. They were clean, but they smelled like him. There was just a hint, just an underlying tone of Hannibal, and Will felt himself relax even more, breathing him in.

Then, he knelt properly, keeping his posture but not rigid in it. He knew how to sit  _ formally, _ but he didn’t know if Hannibal wanted that from him, if he wanted the formal presentation so early on in their… relationship? Journey? Discovery?

It was everything at once and even more than that.

When he heard Hannibal’s steps in the hall he held his breath, smile spreading wider and cheeks warming pink. His excitement bubbled within him, there were butterflies in his stomach, he felt giddy, he felt absolutely giddy.

“Hello, Sir,” he sighed, not even aware he’d spoken until Hannibal tilted his head to him and smiled that warm, pleased smile.

“Hello, darling.”

Pet names were something Will would never adjust to, such open, unrestrained affection that he was dizzy with it. He sucked in a breath, another, his eyes tracking Hannibal as he circled the room, straining to catch a glimpse without breaking position when Hannibal disappeared into his blind spot. 

“Something a little more challenging for today, I think,” Hannibal said. Will heard the creak of a lid-- the chest at the foot of the bed, no doubt holding exactly what Will would have imagined it held. “There are a few new things to try, now that we are no longer hindered by ethical boundaries.”

“Were we ever?” Will asked with a quiet laugh. Perhaps Hannibal had acted only within the boundaries of therapeutic dominance, but somehow, it seemed unlikely. They’d been pushing the limits of the doctor-patient relationship from the very beginning.

“I’m entirely professional with my patients,” Hannibal said, a smile evident in his voice. Will heard a rustle of fabric as Hannibal knelt behind him. Strong hands guided his wrists into place, and then began to wind smooth rope around Will’s arms. Will sucked in a breath. 

Bring tied made Will feel almost irrationally safe. It was like being swaddled. Just held secure and tight, unable to let his thoughts get the better of him, unable to run away from anything because someone was there holding the other end of the rope. And Hannibal being at the other end made Will’s mind reel almost immediately.

By the time Hannibal had bound his arms and started in on the harness over Will’s chest, he was floating, eyes half open and lips parted on soft panting breaths. Hannibal nuzzled and kissed Will’s throat, across his shoulder, down his arm.

“Remarkable boy,” Hannibal whispered, gently squeezing Will’s sides. “Up onto the bed for me.”

Will shivered, shaking his head not in hesitation but in disbelief, before he shifted to settle on his hip and tried to get his legs under him. Hannibal helped, strong hands guiding Will to find his center, and his balance, and push himself up to stand. Hannibal caught Will before he could move, and kissed him, holding his chin with one hand and the rope tight in the other.

Will moaned into the kiss, opened himself up to it, pressed close.

His nerves felt like they were on fire, but it was nothing like when he’d been away from this. Nothing like the sleepless nights and the frenzied days at work. Now, they burned for more, not from overwork.

“On the bed, on your back,” Hannibal told him as he pulled back. “Make yourself comfortable, then we’ll continue.”

“What more are you thinking?” Will asked, sitting first, then wriggling back on the bed. Hannibal watched him, catching his ankle and kissing the top of Will’s foot playfully as he moved.

“I think I’d like to see you properly bound,” he said. “Spread open and beautiful for me. Unable to do anything but take what I give you.”

Will shuddered, squirming until he was firmly nestled among the pillows, laid out for Hannibal’s hungry gaze. On instinct, he brought his knees up, legs together. Not to be disobedient, but because being seen so clearly still brought a mortified flush to Will’s cheeks. 

Hannibal made a soft tsk sound, the sort Will would occasionally use on his dogs. He crawled up to meet Will, shoving his thighs apart to expose his half-hard cock. 

“You’ll learn not to hide from me,” he said, bending Will’s left leg until it was completely folded, his heel pressed against the curve of his ass. He began to bind it like that, long loops of rope that criss-crossed beautifully, a deep red that looked nearly black against Will’s pale skin. “But until you learn, I’ll offer you some assistance.

Will opened his mouth to ask what  _ that _ was supposed to mean, and then snapped it shut again when Hannibal tightened the final knot and went to work on the other thigh. Will squirmed, testing the rope and finding no give.

In what felt like no time at all, Hannibal had the other leg bound as well. Will looked up at him, chest rising and falling rapidly as excitement and nervousness waged a war inside him.

“Alright,” Will said. “You’ve immobilized me. Now what.”

Hannibal’s smile was vicious. “Immobilized? Not quite, sweet boy.” 

He turned towards the foot of the bed, where he’d laid several objects Will could almost see if he craned his neck. When he faced Will again, it was with a long metal bar, cuffs on either end.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“What do you want, Will?”_
> 
> _Will made a helpless sound that could have been a laugh and shook his head. “Your mouth,” he managed._

Will’s instinctual response was to try to push back, away, but Hannibal had done a fantastic job of making that nigh impossible. Instead, he made a soft humming little shudder of a sound and furrowed his brows. Hannibal leaned over him to kiss Will’s forehead.

“You need to trust me,” he murmured. Will just closed his eyes. He knew. He knew that. He  _ wanted to. _ After a moment he nodded, and Hannibal whispered another word of praise against him before pulling back.

The spreader bar was standard, but Will was certain he’d only ever seen those used on ankles. Hannibal, however, adjusted the cuffs to fit around Will’s legs, just below the knees, to keep him spread that way.

_ God. _ Now he was completely open to Hannibal’s gaze. He couldn’t roll over, he couldn’t turn, there was nothing to cover himself with even if Will had the desire to disobey… it was still too new, too strange to have Hannibal see him this way, and yet the way he was looking at Will was so adoring that Will felt the tension in his muscles slowly release, moment by moment.

“Just like that,” Hannibal decided, sitting back on his heels to admire his handiwork.

Will could do no more than flex his fingers and toes, a soft whimper budding up in his throat. A moment of fear.

He’d been bound for Hannibal before, but not like this. He’d never been bound for  _ anyone _ like this, completely trapped, defenseless. He never would have allowed it. 

If Hannibal changed, if he proved himself to be just like everyone else, if he fulfilled all of Will’s expectations for Doms, there would be no way for Will to stop him. He could reach into him, tear and bruise and  _ hurt _ , and Will could do nothing.

Hannibal placed a warm hand in the center of Will’s chest, leaning over him. “Rabbit heart,” He murmured. “Take a deep breath for me, Will.”

Will sucked in a shuddering, rasping gasp. Hannibal frowned, hand sliding up to cup gently over Will’s throat. 

“Again,” he commanded, and Will obeyed, helpless. “Slower.”

Over and over he breathed, until Hannibal was satisfied with the pace and the depth, until he was satisfied that Will’s pulse was easing to something more excited than panicked. Then he let Will go, and moved to kneel beside his head instead, stroking his hair until Will looked up at him.

“That’s better.” Hannibal said. “Stay here with me, Will. Don’t go anywhere.”

“I don’t want to,” Will admitted. Hannibal hummed, considering, and then lifted Will’s head, then his torso up enough to sit up against the headboard and rest Will in his lap instead.

“Sweet boy,” Hannibal praised him, stroking Will’s cheeks, down his throat, across his collarbones. “Look up at me,”

Will did, obedient and needy, arching his throat to see Hannibal at the awkward angle. He didn’t want to look away, he didn’t want to lose himself to the darkness of his memories. He wanted to be here, for Hannibal,  _ with _ him.

“What are your words?” Hannibal asked. Will swallowed, his throat dry.

“Red, yellow, green.”

“And your personal safeword?”

Will frowned. He didn’t want to give it, though he’d written one in the contract eventually. It didn’t matter what his safeword was, he wasn’t going to use it. He didn’t want to use the colors, either, even if they were only meant for stopping the specific scene, but there was nothing that could make him want to bring  _ everything _ to a halt, to put them on equal standing, to  _ discuss _ all the ways that Will had failed to live up to expectations.

Hannibal’s hand found Will’s hair, tugging at his curls. “Will,” He said, voice quiet and stern. “I asked you a question.”

“Quantico,” Will mumbled unhappily. It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t need it. He never had before. 

The hand in his hair eased to a gentle petting. Will relaxed a little under the reassuring touch. 

Hannibal’s hands glided gently over his skin, down his chest to belly, resting just above where Will’s cock was perking up in interest. Will squirmed, unexpectedly ticklish. 

For a few moments, that was all he gave Will: gentle, teasing caresses that had Will breaking into goosebumps. Then his hands slid back up, the pressure a little firmer, and Hannibal captured Will’s nipples between his fingertips.

Will sucked in a breath, letting his eyes slip closed. He’d done this before. This was nothing new or surprising or scary. He’d enjoyed it, he would enjoy it again this time. 

But instead of just touching and moving on, Hannibal kept fondling him. One hand gentle, caressing, almost tickling around Will’s nipple, the other rougher, pinching and twisting gently... then not so gently.

Will winced, teeth bared, and eyes closed, and whined quietly.

He didn’t say anything, so Hannibal didn’t stop.

“Fuck,” he sighed, trying to squirm away, toes spreading and curling uselessly when he couldn’t even rock himself back and forth. Hannibal released one nipple to cup his hand beneath Will’s chin, and then he was kissing him, deep and claiming and hungry, while his other hand pinched harder, using nails where it had been fingertips before.

Will bucked up, moaning into Hannibal’s mouth, and gasped out in pain when Hannibal let him breathe again.

“Hannibal,  _ God,” _

Will caught on quickly. If he didn’t ask Hannibal to stop, if he didn’t ask Hannibal for anything, he wouldn’t release him. He’d continue torturing Will’s already over-sensitive skin until he couldn’t take anymore.

“What do you want, Will?”

Will made a helpless sound that could have been a laugh and shook his head. “Your mouth,” he managed.

Hannibal’s lips caressed Will’s cheek, his jaw. He cradled Will in his arms, hoisting him up enough to nip playfully at his throat. 

“Hannibal…”” Will shuddered, head tilting back. Hannibal’s teeth grazed over his hammering pulse, tugging at sensitive skin. 

Down, over Will’s collarbone, sucking a bruise against the hollow of his throat. Then, finally, Hannibal’s lips sealed around his sensitive nipple, the heat of his mouth torturous. 

“There,” Will gasped, “Hannibal,  _ please. _ ”

Hannibal flicked at his other nipple with the tips of his fingernails, drawing a pained gasp from Will’s lips. His teasing tongue turned to teeth, tugging sharp at Will’s chest until Will arched his back and whined. 

Too much, and not enough. Will was hard, cock leaking against his belly, unable to seek out any friction, unable to wriggle away and find relief from Hannibal’s cruel mouth. “Touch me, please touch me,” he begged. 

So Hannibal did. Far too gently, almost tickling over Will’s ribs and belly, deliberately avoiding Will’s cock as he moved to stroke his thighs next. He drew warm palms from Will’s groin to where the bar held him open and down again, all the while sucking Will’s nipple between his teeth hard enough to pull a wail of need from the submissive beneath him.

“Too much, too much,” Will mumbled, rocking his head back and forth in delirious pleasure. So Hannibal released him, sighing cool air over the sensitive bruised skin. He kissed his way up Will’s chest again, across his shoulders, down the other arm, and wordlessly took the other nipple between his lips next.

He could feel Will’s hands clenching and unclenching in his lap, fingers seeking for Hannibal’s fly, for the bulge between his legs. He shifted enough so that Will couldn’t reach, and the sound he made was divine.

“God, I’m so close…” Will sighed, and a hum and a nuzzle were his only answer before Hannibal parted from Will’s skin.

“Good boy,” he praised him. “Lovely thing. You’re beautiful when you ache for me.”

Will make another helpless sound and tried to buck his hips up, cock leaking against his trembling stomach.

Hannibal reached into his pocket and took something between his fingers, bending to kiss Will’s cheek, the side of his neck, as he finally,  _ finally, _ moved to touch Will’s cock. Will groaned, shivering in pleasure, but his delight was short-lived, when instead of stroking Will to completion, Hannibal instead maneuvered his aching dick into a cock ring, teasing his thumb over the skin just behind Will’s balls after.

“Nooooo,”

“You remember the rules, Will,” Hannibal purred against him. “Not until I say.”

He remembered. He remembered well the wicked look on Hannibal’s face when they’d discussed it, the clear pleasure he derived from denying Will his. Will shook his head, turning his face to press pleading kisses into Hannibal’s clothed stomach.

In answer, Hannibal guided Will back onto the bed, nestled among the pillows, on display for Hannibal’s hungry perusal. He was out of reach of Will’s bound and straining hands, out of reach of his soft, eager mouth. Will looked up at him, lips parted, eyes wet and hazy.

Will had never yearned like this before. He had wanted, he had been denied, but it had been the push and pull of a fight each time.

There was no fight, here. No choice. Hannibal owned him, thoroughly, completely, and as he braced himself on his elbows over Will’s chest, there was nothing Will could do to stop him. 

He tormented Will in long, lingering bites, leaving hickeys in haphazard patterns across his chest, occasionally pausing to tug at Will’s nipples with his sharp teeth, always just this side of too-much. Will couldn’t breathe. He was gasping, straining, squirming in place and held still by Hannibal’s ropes and hands and mouth. 

“I can’t,” Will said, voice breathy and near-silent. “I need…”

Hannibal trailed his lips up Will’s throat, tugging at his earlobe with his teeth. “I will always give you anything you need,” he promised. “What you  _ want _ , on the other hand… Well, we wouldn’t want you spoiled, would we?”

Will sobbed quietly, and Hannibal nuzzled his cheek. “Color, sweet boy,” he murmured. Will’s breathing hitched a little. 

_ Green _ sat on the tip of his tongue, because there was never any other acceptable answer, but he was not only floating now, but also overstimulated to the point of agony. His lungs burned. His body  _ ached _ . He wanted to come so badly…

“Y-yellow,” he whimpered, and Hannibal kissed his cheek, a lingering and loving thing.

“What a good boy you are,” he told Will softly. “Such a lovely thing. You’re doing so, so well for me.”

Hannibal’s hands moved to soothe over his stomach, over his chest. Gentle circles over Will’s quivering skin until his breathing eased and only every other inhale was a gasp. Hannibal continued to whisper praise to him, continued to kiss dotingly over his jaw, his lips, his eyelids when Will fluttered them closed.

“I’m going to reward you,” Hannibal told him, shifting on the bed and adjusting Will’s position with firm, soft hands. “But I want you to tell me as soon as you feel like you’re close again. I will reward your honesty, Will, but I will punish disobedience.”

Will nodded quickly, blinking his eyes open to look up at Hannibal again. His lips trembled and he tucked the bottom one between his teeth before sighing it free.

“Kiss me?” He asked softly. 

Hannibal was more than happy to oblige, cupping Will’s face and holding him safe and secure as his lips worked Will’s open, their tongues meeting in a lazy slide. Then Hannibal kissed his way down Will’s body again, avoiding his nipples, taking his time to nuzzle his navel before he ignored Will’s cock altogether and settled between Will’s spread legs. He hitched Will’s hips up and set his hands to Will’s ass, spreading him with his thumbs. 

Will didn’t even have a moment to gather his thoughts, to figure out exactly what Hannibal was about to do to him, before he felt the hot slide of Hannibal’s tongue over his hole.

Will could count on one hand the number of times a partner had done this to him, and though those previous times had been pleasurable, they did not compare to how it felt when Will was already on edge, already brought to the teetering edge of pleasure and then yanked back. Will yelped, undignified and embarrassing, a sound that came out half strangled. In answer, Hannibal’s fingers seemed to dig in even deeper, opening Will up to his unyielding persistence. 

Will was on fire, burning from the inside. The ropes dug into his arms as he writhed, jerking, toes curling. Nothing gave, not the ropes, not the bar, not Hannibal’s probing tongue. Will let out a sob, shaking in Hannibal’s grasp. 

It took far less time now that Will was already primed for pleasure. His chest ached, his nipples sore and bruised. His cock was weeping, ruddy and straining from neglect. 

Relief was just on the horizon. Will could taste it on the back of his tongue, every muscle tensing in preparation.

But he was good, he  _ wanted _ to be good, more than anything. “H-hannibal, close-!”

Hannibal pulled back entirely, removing every point of contact. Will nearly screamed, turning his face to muffle a needy sob into the pillow. 

“Hush, sweet boy,” Hannibal murmured, stroking Will’s sweaty hair from his forehead. “Sweet, lovely boy, you’re so good for me.”

“Please, I can’t,” Will sobbed, and Hannibal soothed him some more, drawing his knuckles over Will’s cheek. He didn’t ask for his color again, he could see how far Will had drifted, how deep he was in this pleasure-haze. He wasn’t going to push his boy further, he didn’t  _ want _ Will to fail, he never wanted that. He wanted just to push, to get Will to that place where he felt euphoric, where he felt weightless.

Hannibal unclipped the spreader bar and eased Will’s legs closer together, hushing him when Will started to quiver, soothing his hands over his thighs until the tension slipped from them like water. Only then did he start to unwind the ropes keeping Will’s legs bent, taking his time with each one, massaging feeling back into Will’s numb limbs, kissing over the indentations the ropes had left.

By the time Will stretched his legs out on the bed with a groan, his breathing had eased. His eyes, half-open and filled with pupil, followed Hannibal’s every movement from where he lay in repose. When Hannibal tucked his fingers into the ropes over Will’s chest and tugged him to sit up, Will pressed his face to Hannibal’s chest and breathed him in.

“I really want to come,” he mumbled, and Hannibal could feel his smile spreading when Will sniffed and turned his face in a nuzzle against him. He didn’t ask to come, remarkable thing, he just pointed out that he wanted to.

Good boy.

Wonderful boy.

“I know you do,” Hannibal agreed, stroking his hair, down his back. He took one of Will’s bound hands in his own and squeezed. Will squeezed back. “But I have something else for you this time. A reward and a gift both.”

“A gift?” Will asked, hazy and sleepy and floppy as Hannibal tugged his hair lightly.

“Yes.”

Will tilted his head back, unfocused as he tried to meet Hannibal’s gaze. Hannibal nudged him back down with a hand on the nape of his neck, steadying Will against his shoulder. 

He’d already prepared the box ahead of time, and he leaned to grab it from the foot of the bed now, supporting Will carefully as he shifted. Will made a soft, fussy sound, distressed at the motion. 

“Easy, sweet boy. I’m right here.” 

Hannibal shifted once more, cradling Will in one arm as the other hand opened the hinged lid. Will sucked in a sharp breath, hiding a whimper against Hannibal’s throat. 

The collar was simple. Comfortable black leather, it would match anything Will owned, and anything Hannibal chose to dress him in. Hannibal had tagged it as well, his name and address engraved into the back as though Will might get lost and need to be returned. 

“Look up at me, Will,” Hannibal coaxed, helping keep Will balanced with one arm as he sat up, eyes still on the collar, wide and awed and  _ hopeful, _ as though Hannibal was about to yank it out of his reach and claim it was pretend.

Poor thing. How hurt he’d been by unworthy Dominants, how long he’d spent believing that he was worthless and that his dynamic wasn’t a boon, but a burden.

No matter.

He’d never be touched by another again, never be anything but wanted, and pampered, and adored. Hannibal would make sure of it.

He took up the collar and let Will look at it more closely before working open the latch. There was a little lock inside the box as well, the key to which Hannibal would wear around his neck at all times. As he set the collar to Will’s throat, Will arched up, tilting his chin back, offering himself like a sacrifice. So willing, so eager to be wanted and claimed and loved.

“I’ve never had one before,” Will murmured as Hannibal made sure it fit snugly but not tightly before flipping the latch closed and reaching for the lock.

“You are mine, are you not?”

“Yes, Hannibal,” Will sighed, smile lazy and warm on his lips. Hannibal showed him the little lock and Will leaned in to kiss it without prompting or coaxing. Lovely thing. Certain things were untrained and innate, and Will was a truly perfect specimen of a submissive.

“Then I will make sure everyone knows you are,” he said, locking the thing in place, soothing his hands over Will’s throat to settle the collar. “My boy. So obedient and beautiful. You’re not to come, not until I say.” He reminded him. Will nodded, smile just as wide, and leaned in to kiss Hannibal.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You’re thinking too much,” Hannibal told him gently, reaching over to tug Will’s hair just hard enough to feel. “Are you sure you’re alright?”_
> 
> Will decides to test his boundaries...

Two weeks passed.

Hannibal had found the dogs to be impeccably trained, and was more than happy to welcome them into his home, along with their owner.

Wolf Trap remained for Will to enjoy on weekends or days off as he saw fit, and Hannibal didn’t pressure him to sell it. In fact, some weekends he joined Will there, sitting on the edge of the stream reading while Will fished.

Will got used to his collar.

At least, he no longer clutched at it in a panic that someone would rip it off his throat when he had to wear it out of the house. 

Hannibal had chosen a design that Will could hide beneath his work shirts without choking himself, and he wouldn’t hear a word of Will’s protests about wearing it out in public. He’d signed the contract, after all, and collaring was far from an uncommon practice. Besides, when Will allowed himself to actually think about it, he loved the collar. It felt like Hannibal was near him at all times, gently holding the back of his neck, caressing his throat…

And in the end it wasn’t the collar that made him feel tethered, it was something else entirely.

“No.”

“Will.”

“I’m not-- that’s not going on me.”

“It is,” Hannibal replied smoothly. “I will tie you down, should I have to, but I would rather not. And you, dear boy, would not enjoy the consequences should it come to that.”

“Why?” Will tried instead, giving the cage on Hannibal’s palm another wary look. “Why can’t I just hold back like I have been?”

“Because you haven’t been, have you?” Hannibal chided him, tilting his head in that way that suggested Will better remember where he was and who he was.

Will colored. “I’ve been  _ trying _ ,” he said, red-faced and sputtering. “That’s not my fault.”

It wasn’t. He’d done denial before, he didn’t know anyone who  _ hadn’t _ . But none of his previous partners had the taste for it Hannibal did. Those times lasted a single session, maybe through the night, if his partners felt like tormenting him. 

Hannibal, meanwhile, had not given Will permission to come even once in the two weeks they’d lived together. It was possible he might have, had Will not been constantly tipping over the edge on his own, but Will had a sneaking suspicion that Hannibal thought two weeks was a  _ short _ chastity period. It was in his eyes. 

Will was trying, truly, but he hadn’t been prepared for the constant play that came with living with Hannibal. When he wasn’t fucking up and coming at the end of a long, challenging scene, he was doing it in his sleep, wrapped around Hannibal and rutting against him, seeking relief for the heat Hannibal left him with. 

In two weeks, Will had received permission zero times and come anyway six times. It might have been more, had Hannibal not been particularly good at recognizing the signs of an impending orgasm.

Hannibal raised one eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with Will’s arguments. “Do you know what I think, Will?”

“You’re going to tell me, aren’t you?” Will muttered. Hannibal’s eyes narrowed.

“I think you’re too used to getting your own way. I think you’ve spent too much time without someone to hold you accountable, and you need a more concrete reminder that you are no longer in charge.”

Will swallowed. That was true. And he craved the strong hand, he craved the loss of control, and he was trying, he truly was. He’d never once disobeyed Hannibal for spite’s sake, and he’d done that many, many times before with previous partners. But he  _ was _ used to getting his way; he’d been independent and without a Dominant for most of his adult life. This was still new to him, foreign in the best possible way.

“Now,” Hannibal continued, taking a knee at the foot of the bed where Will sat squirming. “Spread your legs and present yourself for me, or tell me to stop. There are no other options.”

Will swallowed thickly. There was a part of him that  _ hated  _ the thought of refusing Hannibal. Everything they had done together up until this moment had brought Will immeasurable pleasure, be it a simple meal or spending time reading together in the study, Will’s head in Hannibal’s lap. But this… this just felt like such a gross violation, one that Will didn’t want to feel whatsoever.

He swallowed again, as Hannibal reached for his ankle, taking it firmly but not painfully in his hand.

“Quantico,” he whispered. Hannibal blinked up at him.

“What was that, Will?”

Will cleared his throat, hating how the word tasted against his lips. “Quantico,” he said again.

For a moment, nothing happened, and then Hannibal leaned in to kiss Will’s knee before pushing himself up to stand.

“Very well.” He said. He didn’t look upset, or angry, or even disappointed. He just looked like… Hannibal. And Will couldn’t figure out why. He’d been prepared to take his punishment, prepared to face berating and a lecture, prepared to have his contract torn in front of his nose and to find his ass kicked to the curb.

He hadn’t prepared himself for  _ acceptance. _

“I was thinking we have a light lunch out today,” Hannibal continued, as though nothing had happened. He moved to return the cage to the drawer in which it was kept, along with some other toys. “And then we spend time preparing dinner together. You’ve been curious about how I prepare a roast, after all, and it’s best to show rather than tell.”

“You’re not mad?” Will asked. Hannibal tilted his head again, and this time there was a smile hidden in the crinkles of his eyes.

“Why would I be mad, dear boy?”

Will nodded towards the drawer. “You wanted that.”

“And you didn’t.”

Hannibal said it as if it was that simple, as if Will’s displeasure settled the matter, without question. Will stared at him. 

“You’re the Dominant,” he finally said, “you’re the one who decides things.”

Hannibal raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure you’ve been taught safeword etiquette, Will.”

“Yeah.” Of course he had. Everyone had. But that didn’t mean Doms  _ liked _ it.

“If you want to play with consensual nonconsent, you can tell me to stop and I’ll force you,” Hannibal said, cupping Will’s face in his hands. “But we don’t use your safeword for scenes like that. Your safeword brings everything to a complete stop.”

Will’s skin felt too tight, his face red and hot. “You wanted something,” he said, grasping for some kind of familiarity. “And I didn’t let you have it. Submissives get punished for that.”

Hannibal shook his head, and stroked Will’s face with his thumbs. Then he knelt, so they were face to face, and looked Will in the eyes as he spoke.

“Proper Dominants, actual Dominants, never punish a submissive for using their safeword. It’s there for a reason, it’s to keep you  _ safe. _ Our contract, our relationship, is based on trust. Trust that I will care for you and give you what you need, and trust that I will respect you and your boundaries.”

Will still looked conflicted, still looked absolutely taken aback that just a word had stopped something from happening that he didn’t particularly want to try. That had never happened before. He’d never thought it ever happened, just a stupid romantic notion subs whispered about when they thought of their  _ perfect Dom _ .

Hannibal leaned in to kiss him, and Will relaxed a little, bringing a hand up to gently hold Hannibal’s wrist. When Hannibal pulled back, kissing Will on the forehead, he felt a little better. It was just a word, after all. Words weren’t actions. Once Hannibal decided he wanted that again he’d just make Will do it, and he’d do it, because that’s what submissives were for, that’s what submissives  _ did. _

“Let’s take the dogs, when we go,” Hannibal added, when he let Will go and moved towards the closet to choose his clothes for the day. “Find a park and let them run.”

Will felt his cheeks grow warm. “I’d like that.”

* * *

Hannibal hadn’t been expecting Will to use his safeword, but when he had, he’d felt such a surge of pride that he could barely contain it.

Regardless of whether or not the cage was truly a hard limit Will would never push, the fact that he’d reached for a word he’d claimed he would never use, and never need, was a monumental achievement. Their trust was growing, day by day, but this was… exceptional. It took a lot for Hannibal not to heap praise on his boy; it was clear he was overwhelmed enough.

The day went well, after such an eventful morning.

They took the dogs out to a park and let them race themselves to exhaustion, then they took a table outside one of the park-facing cafes and enjoyed lunch. Will talked about his work, but in no great detail, and Hannibal reciprocated. When Will laughed, his entire face changed. He looked younger, and lighter. The bags under his eyes that he’d worn like badges of honor when he’d first set foot in Hannibal’s office were gone, just ghosts of them appearing once in a while if Will had nightmares and slept poorly.

Those were happening less and less frequently.

When they came home, they started in early on dinner.

Will, despite his claims that he hated cooking, was a fantastic sous chef. He chopped quickly and carefully, working on the root vegetables while Hannibal prepared the pork, talking Will through every step of the process as he did.

They ate their meal with a deep red wine, and deeper conversation. Will flourished under the attention, head held high, collar on prominent display. 

They retreated to the den to read before the fire, Will on his knees at Hannibal’s feet, red-faced, hiding his embarrassment in his book. He still fidgeted a lot, unused to the position or the ache in his knees, but his shoulders were lax and his expression eventually evened out as he began to actually read the book. 

After, Hannibal settled on the edge of their bed, patting his thigh. Will hesitated. Something flickered in his eyes, something uncertain, perhaps even curious.

Whatever it was, he didn’t see fit to share it with Hannibal. He draped himself over Hannibal’s lap, squirming and sniffling through his spanking. He slept like the dead, face pressed to Hannibal’s throat, wrapped around him as close as he could get.

It wasn’t until the next evening that Hannibal properly understood the look in Will’s eyes. 

“Will.”

“Five more minutes.” Will murmured, not looking up from his book. Not that he was absorbing any of the words on the page.

“You were already given ten more minutes.” Hannibal took the book from Will’s hands, setting it on the end table. The fire was already out, and a chill was setting into the den, but Will remained stubbornly draped across the couch. “It’s time.”

Hannibal watched as Will squirmed about, as he shifted, sighed, acted every bit like a petulant teenager made to clean his room. It was interesting seeing this part of Will shine through; if anything, it was testament to how comfortable he was growing in their relationship that he felt he could act out without fear or rejection.

Not that Hannibal would ever give him up, now that he had him.

Will led the way to the bedroom, dragging his feet, hesitating like he hadn’t in quite a while. When Hannibal sat on the bed and patted his lap, Will shook his head, lip between his teeth.

“I don’t want to,” he mumbled. “I’m still sore from yesterday.”

“As you should be,” Hannibal replied, pleased. “They are maintenance spankings for a reason, Will, to maintain your understanding of our relationship and your role in it.”

Will fidgeted some more, tugged his hair, scratched the back of his neck. Hannibal could practically see the cogs turning in his head, putting two and two together from the day before, weighing his options. Hannibal tilted his head.

“Do you have something to say to me, Will?” he prompted.

Will looked at him, then away. His eyes found every part of Hannibal but his face, and then found the floor again. “Quantico,” Will said, staring down at the carpet as though it might burn away from the intensity of his stare. He shot Hannibal a look, only for a split second, but enough for Hannibal to finally recognize the curiosity and challenge written across his face. 

Well. If that was the game Will wanted to play, Hannibal was more than happy to play it. Will would learn soon enough that there was nothing he could do to earn punishment for using his safeword. 

“Alright,” Hannibal said, standing. As he approached, Will’s shoulders rose, until they were bunched up around his ears. He tilted his head up, accusing, resigned. Hannibal took him gently by the arms and guided Will to the corner. 

“I’m in trouble?” Will guessed, as he was turned to face the wall. Hannibal took each of his hands and guided them to rest on the top of his head. 

“Of course not,” Hannibal said. “Maintenance spankings are meant to center you in your submission, and remind you of my care and attention. They aren’t meant to distress you. If you find them upsetting, we won’t do them. Instead, you can take a few minutes to have some quiet reflection before bed each night, knowing that I’m with you and you’re safe here.”

“You’re substituting my spankings with  _ time out?”  _ Will asked, incredulous. 

“It will be time out if you continue being rude,” Hannibal told him pointedly, running his palms flat and warm down Will’s sides until he reached his hips. Then he leaned in, drawing his lips over Will’s cheek. “As it stands, I’d like you to take a few deep breaths for me, close your eyes, and just think.”

“About what?”

“About us,” Hannibal hummed, gently squeezing Will where he held him. “And this. And what it means.”

And then he let Will go, and moved to sit on the bed, and watched him.

He watched the way Will squirmed and shifted from foot to foot, listened to him pushing out displeased sighs through his lips. He watched, and waited, and wondered if he could feel any prouder of his boy than he did in that moment; for pushing, and asking, and learning this dynamic between them.

* * *

Will slept poorly. 

He slept so poorly that he didn’t even need to be woken up in the morning, he just rose, zombie-like, and followed Hannibal to the kitchen for coffee.

He fed the dogs on autopilot, he brushed his teeth and washed his face like he was programmed to do it. It was only when Hannibal set both hands to Will’s face and pulled him in close to press their foreheads together that Will realized he wasn’t actually  _ conscious _ as such.

“Will?”

“Yeah?”

“You can’t drive like this.”

“I can drive, I promise.”

“No,” Hannibal stroked Will’s cheek with his thumb. “This isn’t a question of capability, it is a command. You can’t drive like this, and you won’t. What’s your schedule today?”

Will blinked at him. “What day is it?”

“Wednesday.”

“Just a morning lecture,” Will stifled a yawn and let Hannibal take more of his weight.

“I’ll drive you in, and pick you up between patients after lunch,” Hannibal told him.

“You don’t have to.”

“Will,” Hannibal lifted his face just enough to kiss him, chaste and soft. “I’ll drive you in, and pick you up after lunch,”

Something clicked, in the slow grogginess of Will’s mind, and he felt himself smile a little. “Yes, Sir,” he mumbled.

The benefit to Will’s particularly distanced way of teaching was that he could do it without much thought. He knew the slides. He knew his notes. His questions for the class tended towards rhetorical, to begin with, and were easy enough to work around. Will had given worse lectures. 

Still, he was exhausted by the time they all drifted out. He had a text from Hannibal reminding him that lunch wasn’t optional, but he only made it part way through the container of leftovers before he put his head down on his desk and closed his eyes.

He woke to fingers rubbing gently at the nape of his neck, up into his hair, scratching pleasantly at his scalp. Will let out a soft, plaintive little moan, opening his eyes to blink blearily out into the room. When he lifted his head, Hannibal immediately put a palm to Will’s forehead, checking his temperature.

“M’not sick,” Will told him, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Just tired.”

Hannibal hummed noncommittally. “I think when I drop you off at home, you’ll go lie down in the bed for a bit. You may bring a book, if you like, but you need a bit more rest.” 

“But, the dogs--”

“Can enjoy the back yard as they please,” Hannibal finished for him, eyebrow raised. Will swallowed and nodded. He wasn’t up for a fight and if he were honest this wasn’t even a battle he wanted to attempt. Hannibal said he needed rest? He couldn’t argue with that, he did. He just didn’t know why he was so damn groggy.

Hannibal stroked his hair a few moments longer, stepping closer to Will’s desk to allow him to lean his head against Hannibal’s side, and then he guided Will to stand, packed up his unfinished lunch, and took up Will’s bag to carry for him.

It was only when they reached the car that Will realized he’d had the top buttons of his shirt undone, and his collar out for all to see.

He had no idea who had seen, who they’d passed, who would whisper about it in the hallways… he had no idea if he’d done this before or after the lecture, if the students had seen, if--

“You’re thinking too much,” Hannibal told him gently, reaching over to tug Will’s hair just hard enough to feel. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Will nodded, turning into Hannibal’s hand before reaching to pull on his seatbelt.

He slept because he couldn’t not sleep, and when he woke up Hannibal was home again and making food downstairs.

Will listened, for a while not moving at all, he just listened to Hannibal cooking. It felt so oddly domestic, so strangely unreal that Will was living this life, with this man, and he was  _ happy. _ Because he was happy, wasn’t he? He was the happiest he had ever been in his entire adult life.

Then why,  _ why, _ did Will suddenly want to turn his face into the pillow and sob like a child? Why did he feel like something was missing from the very core of his being?

He shuttered the thought and got out of bed, instead, making his way downstairs and wrapping his arms around Hannibal’s middle from behind while he continued cooking. Hannibal rested a hand over Will’s and hummed, pleased.

“You look better.”

“Feel better,” Will mumbled, though it was only half true. He just needed to get out of his funk. He was fine.

Hannibal squeezed Will’s hand. “Set the table for me,” he instructed. The weight of the command was like a heavy blanket over Will’s shoulders; he sank beneath it, cradled in warmth. 

Hannibal always had little instructions for him, tiny tasks that held Will throughout his day. Never anything Will wouldn’t have chosen to do himself. Will’s day-to-day life, outside of sex, hadn’t vastly changed, and yet he normally felt significantly more relaxed.

Normally.

Today, even Hannibal’s guidance could not entirely break through the fog that surrounded Will. The command felt nice, obeying it felt nicer, but Will still felt adrift when they settled in to eat. His answers to Hannibal’s questions were brief, so very unlike the long diatribes he could often be prompted into. 

They didn’t do an in-depth scene every single day, and Will found himself grateful for that as they moved into the den afterwards. He was simply too exhausted to participate. Intimacy was difficult and draining for him, still, and it would have taken everything Will had left.

He didn’t bother with a book. There were a series of positions Will was permitted in this quiet time when he was meant to indulge in submission, and today he took up the easiest, sprawled across the couch with his head in Hannibal’s lap, nose to Hannibal’s stomach.

He dozed.

When they went upstairs, and Will started to remove his shirt in preparation for being bare for his spanking, Hannibal stopped him and guided him to the wall again.

“Just reflection time for now,” Hannibal told him, stroking Will’s hair before setting the younger man’s hands on top of it in the preferred position. “Just five minutes tonight. Then a shower and bed.”

Will wanted to argue, he wanted to rebel, he wanted to turn around and bare his teeth and stare Hannibal down until he  _ did what they did before. _ But he didn’t. He couldn’t. He wasn’t able to disobey Hannibal as easily as he could have before he’d started seeing him as a therapist, let alone before he started seeing him as a partner.

So he stayed staring at the wall. He stared and he hated everything and he started to cry, silent, huge tears spilling from his eyes and down his chin as he waited to be allowed to move again. When Hannibal turned him, Will wrapped his arms around him and clung on.

“I’m sorry,” he managed, shoulders shaking as he sobbed. Hannibal hushed him, holding Will tight and gently scratching his scalp just the way he liked it.

“Nothing to be sorry for, sweet boy,” Hannibal promised him quietly. “Nothing at all. You’ve exhausted yourself. I’ll give you something to help you sleep.”

Will didn’t want pills. He wanted  _ that, _ what they had  _ before, _ before Will had opened his big stupid mouth and used his stupid fucking word.

He hated that word. He hated it.

The pills helped him sleep, but when he woke in the morning, Will felt even worse than the day before.

* * *

Hannibal could see it, the cracks showing in Will’s usually stoic facade, and he waited. He knew Will would come to an answer on his own, and he would never violate the use of a safeword. Until Will recanted, he wouldn’t spank him, or try to cage him. He wouldn’t even bring the words up. 

He hoped that both had been rejected out of fledgeling stubbornness rather than actual trauma, but he wasn’t going to step out of line, in case he was wrong.

He watched Will leave for work, and made a note to cancel his appointments for the next day, when Will had his day off, so he could take care of his boy properly this evening, and into the morning.

He hoped that a scene would unwind some of the tension in Will’s shoulders, but Will was fidgety even when Hannibal had him bound on his knees, lips wrapped around Hannibal’s cock. 

Though they’d only had such a scene twice before, both times Will had sunk entirely under after just a few moments of quiet stillness. Hannibal would have Will warm him while he read for fifteen or so minutes, and by the time he got a grip on Will’s hair and began to properly fuck his mouth, Will was blissful. 

Tonight, Will’s eyes didn’t close. He looked up at Hannibal, off to the side, down, though there was little to be seen there but Hannibal’s skin. He shifted on his knees, rolled his shoulders. 

He made pretty sounds when Hannibal began to roll his hips forwards, but once Hannibal had finished he was back to his fidgeting, back on his feet the very second Hannibal untied him. 

He wasn’t hard.

Hannibal frowned, and pressed a kiss to Will’s temple. No fever, but he would need to keep checking. It was clear to Hannibal that Will was spiraling, that their nightly discipline sessions had gone a long way towards keeping him grounded and safe, but Hannibal wouldn’t push that boundary.

“I’m really tired,” Will mumbled against his shoulder. “I’m just gonna... I’ll meet you in the bedroom.”

“Alright, sweet boy.” He would let Will rest, for tonight, but tomorrow they would have a conversation, work together to find a new form of daily discipline that made Will feel safer. 

He could hear Will pacing upstairs, not calm there either. He certainly wasn’t lying about being tired, but he was restless. He was manic.

Hannibal was in a curious position; on the one hand, as a Dominant, he knew that he had to take Will in hand and help him through this. On the other, the reason this was happening was because Will chose for it to happen, and taking that choice away, or undermining it in any way, would spiral Will further and lead to long-lasting consequences that would take even longer in their lives together to unravel.

No.

Will had worries enough, he didn’t need more. And certainly not from Hannibal.

He gave Will a few minutes alone before moving to join him in the bedroom. When he did, Will was bare, hands wrapped together, fingers white with how tight he was clinging to himself. When he saw Hannibal, he beelined for him, and Hannibal had to catch him against the shoulders and hold him at arm’s length.

“Corner, Will,” Hannibal told him, watching the way Will’s features flickered, twitched, and quaked, and then his expression broke. He looked like he was folding in on himself.

Will was aching. There was a gnawing pit inside of him, and he didn’t understand. His next breath shuddered, and when he breathed out, a mortifying, distressed sob broke free.

“Why?” He whispered. “Why won’t you just… just  _ do it? _ ”

Hannibal’s grip tightened slightly. “You asked me not to,” he reminded Will. 

“ _ So _ ?” Will shook his head, stepping back. “That shouldn’t… You’re the  _ Dom _ . You do what you want.”

“Not when it’s something  _ you _ don’t want.”

Will laughed, sharp and bitter. “What I want doesn’t  _ matter _ ,” he said, “it’s not  _ supposed _ to matter, and I don’t understand-” He cut himself off, burying his hands in his hair and tugging. Hannibal was completely predictable. He said what he meant, he did what he said he would, and he never went back on his word. With every day that passed, Will’s anxiety ramped up. Hannibal should have broken by now, should have taken whatever he wanted, and waiting for the hammer to fall was  _ killing _ Will.

The worst part was, he wanted it. Not in the sense of  _ enjoyment _ , but once it happened, he would know how bad it could get. He would know how to prepare himself for Hannibal’s anger. He could handle it, he knew he could, if he got Hannibal’s blissful comfort outside of it. He just needed to  _ know _ . He would put up with just about anything if it meant Hannibal would  _ get it over with _ .

“Just  _ hurt me! _ ” Will yelled, voice cracking. When he looked up, Hannibal’s expression was calm. No anger. No frustration. He looked  _ worried _ , and it was  _ that  _ that pushed Will over the edge. How could he keep this up for so long? How could he  _ possibly _ deny himself forever when no one else-

That thought hurt, sharp as a knife in Will’s chest. He turned, breath coming in panicked gasps, and began to dig through the dresser drawers. The cage was easy to find, polished metal gleaming, and Will turned to Hannibal with shaking hands.

“Just put it on,” He gasped, holding the cage out. “Just  _ do it _ , I know you want to, just  _ do it _ so we can go back to the way things were. I don’t… Why are you punishing me?”

“I’m not punishing you, sweet boy,” Hannibal told him, taking the cage from him and setting it aside. Then he took Will’s hand with both of his own.

“But… but I want… I need to--”

“You need to understand,” Hannibal told him gently, guiding Will close into an embrace he resisted for a few moments, struggling against Hannibal’s welcome hands before sobbing loudly and giving in, clinging to him and shaking. “That I will always respect you. I will always respect your limits, and your choices, no matter how strange they may seem to me. A safeword is final. It is concrete. And it is yours to use and retract as you see fit, that is your power.”

“I have no power,” Will whined, “I  _ can’t, _ I’m not able to-- I’m  _ submissive, _ you’re meant to  _ control me!” _

“Only in ways you want,” Hannibal told him, pressing his words to Will’s temple, one hand stroking his back, the other cupping the back of his head. “Only in ways we both find pleasurable.”

“But others--”

“I’m not others,” Hannibal told him firmly, squeezing Will tighter, possessive and protective both. “And no one else, no one, unless you choose it, will touch you again. No one but me. You are  _ my boy.” _

“I want it to go back,” Will whimpered, rubbing his face against Hannibal’s chest. “I want to go back to how it was before. To the maintenance spankings, to your voice telling me what to do, to you… just you… just… don’t go, please don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Will,” Hannibal promised him, swaying them gently where they stood. “Not now, and not any time you choose to use a safeword in our lives together. I’m proud of you for using it.”

“Don’t,” Will’s shoulders shook again, just a little, just enough to suggest more tears were coming, a flood he’d been holding back for days.

Hannibal leaned back just enough to see Will and took his chin in his fingers to lift it up. “I’m proud of you,” Hannibal repeated against Will’s lips, and kissed his arguments from him.

Will sank into Hannibal, clutching desperately to him, his fingers so tightly entwined in Hannibal’s clothes that he  _ had _ to be pinching him. 

Hannibal allowed it without complaint, stepping back towards the bed and bringing Will with him. He sat amongst the pillows, Will cradled in his lap like a child, and Will  _ broke _ .

The tears came hard and fast, gasping sobs that threatened to drown Will. He pressed his damp face against Hannibal’s throat, his cries cracked and jagged as Hannibal pet him so tenderly, his hands a soothing balm against Will’s skin. 

Hannibal let him cry. He held Will through every shudder, every whimper. He pressed praise against his temple, he kissed the damp tear tracks on his face. He let Will  _ exist _ , in peace and safety. 

When Will could finally breathe again, when his vision was no longer blurry with tears, Will leaned back and pressed his lips to Hannibal’s jaw, less a kiss than another desperate point of contact. “Please,” he begged, “please spank me.”


	9. Chapter 9

Hannibal cupped Will’s face and kissed him, a chaste and gentle thing, as he stroked Will’s sweaty curls from his forehead. His face was blotchy from crying, eyes red-rimmed and so, so bright. He looked clearer than he had in days.

“Are you sure?” He asked.

“Yes,” Will swallowed, sniffed, and brought a hand to his face to rub his eyes with the heel of his palm. “Yes. I’m absolutely sure. I want you to spank me, please, Sir.”

Hannibal looked at Will, met his gaze and held it, and then leaned in to kiss his forehead. He’d known, of course, that spanking wasn’t a hard limit for Will. He’d known that his use of the safeword had been performative, the same way a child tests boundaries with its parents. But even with that knowledge, he’d always ask, always make sure.

“Stand up by the bed then, sweet boy,” Hannibal told him. “Let me see you.”

Will climbed out of bed and took a moment to stretch. Arms over his head, shoulders back. He pushed up on his toes and rolled his ankles, too, before turning to look at Hannibal properly, hands behind his back.

Hannibal swung his legs over the edge of the bed and watched him, eyes up on Will’s when he’d settled from his fidgeting.

“Beautiful,” he praised, smiling when Will ducked his head in pleasure. “Absolutely beautiful boy. Now. Remind me why you have your maintenance spankings nightly.”

“They center me,” Will said. “They remind me of my place with you, of your attention and care. They keep my attention on being good. They…” Will sucked in a breath, still just a bit shaky. “They make me better. They make me  _ feel _ better, I don’t… I need them to keep me safe.”

The last bit was not part of Hannibal’s recitations; Will had added it himself. He felt it, deep down in his bones. Maybe other submissives didn’t, maybe they got by just being punished for infractions, but Will couldn’t do it. Hannibal was right, as he often was. Will needed constant attention and a heavy hand in order to keep himself functioning, keep himself out of withdrawal.

And he  _ had _ been in withdrawal. Will could no longer deny that. He’d been spiraling out before Hannibal. Inappropriate as it had been, if Jack had not pushed Will to seek therapeutic submission, he’d probably have ended up in the hospital.

He needed this. More than need, he  _ wanted _ it. He wanted Hannibal’s hands on him, Hannibal’s command, Hannibal’s control. He wanted Hannibal to pay attention to him, and only him. The rest of the world could vanish and Will wouldn’t have cared. He wanted Hannibal not to care, too. 

“Such a good boy,” Hannibal praised. His smile was genuine, it warmed Will from the inside out. Hannibal patted his thigh. “Come here, sweetheart. Let me take care of you.”

Will stepped closer, reaching out to balance himself so he could bend over Hannibal’s lap, but he was caught before he could. Hannibal leaned in and kissed him, and it felt so grounding, so genuinely wonderful, that Will whimpered into it, eyes closing and lips parting in pleasure.

It wasn’t a long kiss, nothing like how they kissed each other before a scene or during one, but it was there, it was honest and raw and Will felt himself relax. He hadn’t fucked up. He hadn’t ruined what was the best thing he’d had going for him in  _ years. _ Perhaps he couldn’t come to terms with being able to say no, yet, but he could trust that Hannibal wasn’t angry.

Words and actions, after all.

“Over my knee, Will,” Hannibal told him, pulling back and letting Will get himself situated. He was so good at keeping his position now, at bending just so, at arching his back and presenting himself. He was so good at so many things, as Hannibal had known he would be when he’d first met him.

He stroked over Will’s thighs, his hands large and warm over familiar skin. He soothed him until Will was trembling with anticipation, not tension, and only then did he start spanking him.

Hannibal didn’t believe in spoiling subs, they needed the treatment that made them feel safe, and Will felt safe when he was kept well in hand, when he was reminded of his Dom’s power, when he was offered the pain that gave him pleasure. So when Hannibal spanked him, he didn’t hold back, he didn’t ease Will back into it after two nights without, he struck hard enough to leave imprints of his hands over the curves of Will’s ass.

He continued the exercise until he felt Will’s breathing hitch, until the fingers digging into his ankle were no longer painful but weakening, and only then did he rub feeling back into the numb and tingling skin.

Will’s backside had been varying shades of pink since their intimacy began, and in the past two days, it had paled, becoming a fresh canvas for Hannibal’s discipline. He’d been able to watch the imprint of his hand blossom and then fade, until it could no longer fade entirely. Will’s ass was a lovely shade of red now, and he sniffled when Hannibal massaged it. All was as it should have been. 

“There we go,” Hannibal said softly, sliding his palm up Will’s spine and then back down again. Will melted into the touch with a needy little mewl; he was always so touch starved, and no matter how much physical affection Hannibal showed him, he continued to respond strongly. There was a deficit there that made Hannibal furious, that he was not sure he could ever properly fill up. Someone, before him, had neglected his boy. Will wouldn’t speak on it, but Hannibal was not a fool. 

“Sore,” Will mumbled, but there was relief in his voice. 

“I should hope so. It will help you remember, won’t it?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Hannibal patted Will’s lower back. “Come on, sweet boy, up you get.” He helped Will up, shifting until they could both sprawl comfortably across the bed, Will atop him. 

“Thank you,” Will finally said, after a few long moments of contemplative silence. Hannibal carded his fingers through Will’s hair. 

“Do you feel better now, sweetheart?”

Will nodded, nuzzling his face up against Hannibal’s neck. “Much,” he admitted. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” Hannibal asked, and his tone didn’t suggest that he expected an answer, it sounded almost surprised. Will swallowed and continued nuzzling for a few moments more.

“I’m sorry for saying no,” he started, reaching up to press his fingers to Hannibal’s lips before he could counter. “I’m sorry for saying no when I didn’t mean it,” he clarified. “I wanted… I didn’t believe you’d listen, or take it as serious on something so… so stupid.”

“I’ll always respect your safeword, Will,” Hannibal reminded him, both hands coming to rest at the base of Will’s back. “Nothing is stupid.”

“This was pretty stupid.”

“You were testing boundaries,” Hannibal shrugged. “The same as a child learning what they can and cannot get away with as they grow. I’m very proud of you.”

Will ducked his head against Hannibal’s chest, but he was smiling. It was still so hard to accept praise and pride from Hannibal, but he was slowly learning to. When he looked up again, his expression was a little mischievous.

“I really like it when you spank me,” he admitted, as though Hannibal didn’t know. “I… I look forward to it every night, knowing I’ll be over your knee. Is that bad?”

Hannibal cupped WIll’s jaw, pulling him in for a kiss that deepened into something demanding. “You know it isn’t,” he murmured against Will’s lips. 

“Maybe you should remind me.”

It got better, after that, if only because Will felt less desire to strain at the bit and see what happened.

Not  _ zero _ desire, there was still a part of him skeptical and suspicious of all the things Hannibal seemed to give freely, but he settled, for a while. He thought that maybe, just maybe, he could have this, that it was what it seemed to be on the surface and not a trap with jaws slowly closing around him. 

It seemed to Will that Hannibal wanted to give him everything.  _ Everything.  _ He was tactile, affectionate. He fed Will delicacies, savory dinners and carefully decorated desserts. He texted Will throughout the day, called him on his lunch break. Will had never been happier. 

It seemed only right that he give back, even though the thought still made his stomach twist nervously. It wouldn’t be so different, after all. It wasn’t as though Will was having tons of orgasms to begin with. Not ones he was  _ meant _ to be having, anyway. 

It took another week for Will to work up the courage, but one night when Hannibal was leading him upstairs, a soft command in his ear to  _ get undressed and kneel by the bed for me _ , he turned and gently touched his chest.

“Can I quickly do something?”

Hannibal gave him a look, eyes narrowed in amusement. “How quickly?”

Will laughed, breathy and warm. “Very. I won’t even have to leave the room.”

Hannibal hummed, tucked a curl behind Will’s ear. “You may.”

Will leaned in to kiss him, something Hannibal allowed, and turned to continue upstairs to the bedroom. He’d pulled his shirt off by then, tossing it to the hamper, and was halfway out of his pants and underwear by the time he got to the dresser.  _ The _ dresser. The one that housed their toys, and a copy of their contract.

Will swallowed, pulling open the drawer he needed and taking out the cage.

He’d thought about it a lot since the first time he’d asked not to use it; the dresser wasn’t locked, he was free to look at anything in there as he wished unless Hannibal specified otherwise. Holding it now, it didn’t feel as threatening as it had the first time. Just a piece of metal. Just a strange new toy.

He heard Hannibal come into the room and turned back to him, holding the cage out.

“I’d like to try it,” he said.

“Will,”

“Just… just for tonight. For the scene. I just… I want to know what it feels like. Can… can I do that?”

Hannibal sat down on the bed, patting the space next to him. Of course, he was going to want to talk about it. Will had expected it, and yet he could not think of anything he wanted  _ less _ . Sometimes, Will thought his life would be easier if Hannibal just abused his power and made Will do whatever he wanted. 

Will sat down anyway, because his Dom was telling him to and he wanted to be good. And more than that, because  _ Hannibal _ was telling him to, and Will wanted him to be happy. 

Hannibal took the cage and set it aside, then took Will’s hands in his. “I need to know that you understand this isn’t a requirement for me.”

“I know that,” Will mumbled. 

“I’m not sure you do.” Hannibal brought Will’s hands to his lips and kissed the knuckles. “Or perhaps  _ intellectually _ you know it, but emotionally, you may not believe it. There are no wrong answers, Will. No trick questions. This is not something that I am going to try and manipulate you into. It’s not something that will breed resentment. If you never want to wear a cage, if you never even want to  _ see _ one, ever again, then you don’t have to. It won’t change what we have. It isn’t a deal breaker.”

“I know that,” Will said again, though he tried to sound more confident this time. “I do, Hannibal.”

“If you want to try this,” Hannibal said, “then we can try it. But I don’t want you to do it out of obligation. I want to do this  _ with _ you, not  _ to _ you.”

Will swallowed. There was still a part of him that wanted to scream, to yell at Hannibal and demand he just take what he wants. That part was overshadowed, eclipsed by genuine curiosity. He looked up at Hannibal again.

“I want to try this,” he repeated. “Just this once. Because I’m curious. Because I feel safe trying it with you.”

That seemed to give Hannibal pause. He considered Will before kissing his knuckles again, and reached for the cage. Then he sank down to his knees at the foot of the bed and guided Will to spread his legs for him.

Will was semi-hard, still soft enough to put the cage on without pain. He watched as Hannibal took his time adjusting every part of it; the ring behind his balls, the cage itself, so that no skin was pinched, and nothing felt off. Only then did he close it with a click, and look up at Will with such adoration that his heart skipped a beat.

“Beautiful boy,” Hannibal praised him, leaning in to kiss against Will’s stomach. Will smiled, unable to hide it, and ducked his head. His fingers clung to the bedding, already excited and nervous for what the evening would bring. Often, they didn’t play with anything kinky, often, they would just go to bed together, and if one thing led to another they happily enjoyed each other and themselves.

When Hannibal sat up higher, setting his hands on either side of Will, and leaned in, Will kissed him.

Kissing Hannibal still made Will’s head spin, every time. He couldn’t explain it, there was just something so powerful about being wanted by this man, and being the center of his attention. Not once, in the time they’d shared together, had Hannibal made Will feel like something lesser, like a  _ thing _ rather than a person. Not once. Will wasn’t sure that Hannibal was even capable of it.

He grinned as the kiss turned more desperate, as Hannibal stood up and guided Will to lay back on the bed.

The bed was a monstrosity, oversized and overly stuffed with pillows, but Will had stopped finding it comical after the first time they’d had sex in it, crawling all over each other without having to worry about toppling off it. Now, Hannibal laid Will out among a dozen pillows, kissing his way down Will’s chest. Will sucked in a breath as he pressed a kiss to the cool metal of the cage. 

He couldn’t feel the warmth of Hannibal’s lips, but his cock twitched, straining at the bars and going nowhere. It was uncomfortable, but not unbearable. Not painful. Just a slight pressure, something he couldn’t ignore. It narrowed Will’s focus down to Hannibal, and the smile he gave Will, settling between his thighs and surging up to kiss him again. 

“You’re beautiful,” Hannibal told him, cupping Will over the cage. Will whimpered. He could feel the slightest touch through the bars of the cage, the pressure from Hannibal’s hand, but nothing more. His imagination was doing all the work, reminding him of how it felt when Hannibal touched him. 

“I look ridiculous,” Will insisted, a smile tugging at his lips. Hannibal’s next kiss was just above the collar, over Will’s Adam’s apple. 

“You look owned,” he said, eyes dark and hungry. Will shuddered. 

_ Owned. _

Will wanted to be owned. He liked being owned. For the weeks he had been Hannibal’s, he’d felt the most content, the most safe.

He rocked up into Hannibal’s hand and groaned in pleasure, the tease of warmth between the metal bars was driving Will mad. Had he really been so scared of this? He spread his legs and drew his knees up, draping his arms over Hannibal’s shoulders to pull him closer.

But he was needy, he felt giddy with pleasure, and Will moved his hands down to work Hannibal’s shirt open, to start to bare him as well.

Hannibal, for his part, worshiped every inch of skin he could reach with his mouth while he teased Will’s balls with practiced fingers. He hadn’t lied, had Will never asked for this, he wouldn’t have brought it up again. But seeing Will this way, naked for all but his collar and cock cage… he was exquisite.

“I’m going to enjoy you,” Hannibal promised him, sitting back enough to shrug his shirt off. “Take my time, have you make those soft, beautiful sounds for me.”

Will happily obliged and made one then, watching Hannibal work his pants open, pull out his cock to stroke. Will’s own twitched in its cage, unable to get hard, unable to curve up to his belly. It felt the same as when Hannibal tied his arms behind his back, as when Hannibal told him to keep still while he worked Will over with a belt. It felt like freedom.

Will’s skin was sensitized, goosebumps breaking out across his arms. When Hannibal leaned over to reach for the lube, his cock rubbed against Will’s trapped one and the difference was staggering. Will felt small,  _ protected.  _ Hannibal made him feel safe. 

Hannibal worked him open with careful fingers and so much lube that Will barely felt the stretch. He spread his legs wide for Hannibal to fit between, hips rocking restlessly towards Hannibal. 

Hannibal was in a teasing mood. He avoided Will’s prostate, but filled him in long, languid thrusts. Will dug his heels into the bed and tried to hold on. 

“Be good for me, Will,” Hannibal said, pulling his fingers out and wiping them on the bedding. Will whined at the sudden emptiness, hooking a leg around Hannibal’s hips. 

“I’m very good,” he protested. 

“But not very patient,” Hannibal teased. He laced their fingers together, pressing Will’s hand into the pillow beside his head. His other hand guided his cock to Will’s slick entrance. 

Will snorted, but didn’t argue. He squeezed Hannibal’s hand and spread his free one over Hannibal’s chest, stroking through the hair there. As Hannibal eased into him, Will sighed, closing his eyes and letting his lips open to the kiss Hannibal pressed to them.

It was slow, just a rocking of two bodies together, and Will felt his heart race faster than it ever had when they’d been fucking. This wasn’t fucking, this was something tender, something loving. This was a lovemaking the kind of which Will hadn’t ever thought he’d experience, and feeling it with Hannibal now had his breath hitching.

“I’ve got you,” Hannibal whispered, pressing a kiss to Will’s cheek as he rolled his hips a little harder, pushing in deeper and making Will groan. Will slid his hand up around Hannibal’s shoulders and clung on, nails digging into his skin when Hannibal brushed his prostate just so, just enough to feel.

“God, that feels good,” he sighed, turning his head to meet Hannibal’s mouth in another kiss as he drew his knees up and crossed his ankles around Hannibal’s hips. It changed the angle of their bodies just enough that Will’s trapped cock was between them, every push of Hannibal’s body into his own rubbing it through the bars of its cage.

Hannibal slid their joined hands up over Will’s head and pressed their foreheads together, free hand down to hold Will’s hips still as he moved a little faster, staccato thrusts against Will’s prostate until he was mewling, until he was shaking beneath Hannibal, head back and lips parted on helpless whimpers.

“I’m so close,” he managed, voice shaking, and Hannibal kissed his throat.

“Don’t come,” he reminded Will.

For a moment, Will didn’t think he could. That was the point to the cage, wasn’t it? The thick metal ring restricting his balls was meant to hold him back, to provide just enough pressure to keep Will on edge and aching. 

All too quickly, Will realized that wouldn’t be the case. And why should it? He’d come untouched before, Hannibal purposefully avoiding his cock to hold him back. It was certainly more difficult to come with his cock straining in its confines, but it wouldn’t be impossible. 

“Oh god,” Will gasped, digging his heels into the bed. He reached up with his free hand to scrabble at the headboard. “Sir, please, I can’t-”

Hannibal slowed, but he shifted, rocking deeper into Will, an aching grind rather than the rapid-fire thrusts, a new sort of torment. Will was leaking through the cage, riding that edge, straddling a line he didn’t want to cross.

He wanted to be good this time. He wanted to please Hannibal. It was clear that he and Hannibal had different ideas of how often was  _ too _ often for a sub to come -- Hannibal’s seemed to be ‘monthly, at best’-- but for once, Will wanted to live up to someone  _ else’s _ expectations. 

“You can,” Hannibal murmured, pressing the words like a brand into Will’s jaw. “I know you can, sweet boy.”

Will whimpered and bit his lip, nodding shakily as Hannibal continued to rock into him. It was intimate, soft, agonizingly perfect. Will didn’t know how long he could last, but he was determined to lose consciousness before disobeying, if it came to that. He ducked his head and sought Hannibal out for another kiss.

Their joined palms slipped together, and Will released his death grip on Hannibal to bring his hand up to cup his face instead. He set one foot to the bed, stretched out the other, and gasped as the change in position allowed Hannibal to rub his cock directly against his prostate, over and over, in a way that made Will see stars.

“Feels so good,” Will whimpered, his voice catching. Because it did. It  _ did. _ He wanted to come so badly, but the edging, the pleasure, the threat of what would happen if he disobeyed… it was euphoric, Will felt high. “Feels so good, Sir, please,”

“If only you could see yourself,” Hannibal purred, turning Will’s face aside to kiss behind his ear, tonguing a line down his jaw. “How debauched you look for me, how beautiful you are when you beg.”

_ “Please!” _

“Just like that,” Hannibal whispered, nuzzling against Will. “Just like that, Will. I want you to make me come, now.”

Will tensed around him, toes curling and butterflies fluttering in his belly, he heard Hannibal groan in pleasure, and did it again, over and over, as his body ached and raced to the edge with Hannibal’s. But he didn’t let himself drop over, not when Hannibal clung to him and started to fill him up, not when he pulled back and caught Will’s chin, kissing him so lovingly Will felt weak.

His own cock remained dripping, his desire still caged for Hannibal’s pleasure.

“Beautiful,” Hannibal murmured, pulling free. Will felt himself leaking, and he clenched, wanting to keep as much of Hannibal inside him as possible. “Beautiful, tempting thing.” He peppered Will’s face with soft, sweet kisses, and Will melted beneath the attention. 

He felt at peace. Even with the hunger in his belly, the burning need, he felt relief. He’d done well. He’d pleased his Dom, and Hannibal-

“So proud of you,” Hannibal told him, skimming a hand down his stomach to cup his caged cock. He held him, his dominance a heavy weight over Will. Will sucked in a breath, as Hannibal’s fingers sifted towards the clasp, teasing over it. 

Will felt a clawing need, an overwhelming instinct he would once have fought. He had no desire to fight it anymore. He wanted to be good for Hannibal. 

“Leave it on,” he whispered. “God, Hannibal, I want you to leave it on.”

Hannibal pressed a palm over Will’s thigh, spreading him open, exposing him. “If I leave it on,” he murmured, voice low and going straight to Will’s trapped cock, “I don’t know when I’ll let you out again. You may find yourself regretting that choice.”

“You’ll stop,” Will whispered. “If I want you to, if I  _ ask _ you to, you’ll stop.”

Hannibal beamed at him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANKS FOR WAITING OUT OUR HIATUS


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He almost asked Hannibal to step in, to call Jack, to tell him not to take Will to Maine. But he didn’t. He wasn’t that man, he wasn’t going to be that submissive. He could do this. He would do this._
> 
> _Everything would be fine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stepping in to say that we _know_ this isn't how hallucinations work, even quick onset ones, but we're using the "it's just fic" excuse with this one. It only happens the once and we don't make it happen again. We hate perpetuating stereotypes and if this were an ongoing arc in the story we'd absolutely have approached it differently. Thank you!

Will’s life was going incredibly.

The dogs loved Hannibal, they loved their new home. The yard was a lot smaller than they were used to, but there was a dog park nearby that Will could set them free in. 

Will was eating better, he was sleeping better. He was  _ smiling _ more, sometimes finding himself curled up in his office tugging at his collar just to feel the weight of it. 

Will was comfortable. He was happy. So, of course, everything went to hell. 

“Maine,” Hannibal said, as Will packed a suitcase. Jack had told him only hours before, and he had not been able to pass the news on to Hannibal until mere minutes earlier. 

They had an agreement about Will’s work. Hannibal had laid out his expectations, but he otherwise trusted Will’s judgement.

“Maine,” Will agreed, wincing. 

“And you don’t know how long you’ll be gone.”

“Serial killers don’t exactly care about my schedule.”

Hannibal sighed, adding one of his own thick sweaters to Will’s bag. “We agreed you weren’t going to overwork yourself,” he said gently. “Less hours with Jack, more in the classroom.”

“Someone has to catch this guy.” Will couldn’t look at Hannibal, couldn’t meet his eyes. He knew what look would be on his face. “Might as well be me.”

“If you want to go, you may,” Hannibal said, “but if you feel Jack is taking advantage of your empathy, your concern for others, I am more than happy to step in as your Dominant.”

Will did look up then, because he still couldn’t believe that that word applied, that Hannibal was  _ his _ as much as Will was Hannibal’s. He went when Hannibal pulled him close in an embrace, and gently set his palm over Hannibal’s heart to feel the steady beat of it.

“Thank you.”

“You will call, when you need,” Hannibal told him quietly. Will hummed that he would, though neither knew when he would have the time. In the evening, perhaps, before bed, perhaps. Will swallowed.

“May… may I remove the cage for the trip?”

He’d gotten used to wearing it, in truth, unless Hannibal was tormenting him and testing his resolve, he rarely felt it when he wore it. Once a week, Hannibal removed it to make sure everything was healthy, and nothing was chafing, and washed Will entirely with gentle hands before putting it back on again. But going away, possibly sharing a room with someone…

“You may,” Hannibal replied at length. “But you will wear your collar.”

“Of course,” Will sighed, frowning when he looked up again. “I wouldn’t take it off, I never--”

“I know,” Hannibal kissed his forehead. “Come, if you don’t leave until the very early morning, I will bathe you and feed you and see you off properly.”

Will blushed, but nodded. ‘Properly’ could imply any manner of things.

Tonight, it meant steak, just barely cooked and drizzled with a thick sauce, with potatoes and a salad at the side. It was too simple for Hannibal’s tastes,which meant he’d made it for Will, comfort food to fill him, something for him to remember while he ate garbage takeout. 

“A bath?” Will asked, once the dishes were put away. Hannibal pressed a kiss to his jaw, teeth grazing the sensitive skin. 

“Later,” Hannibal murmured, “or else we’ll have to clean you up a second time.”

Will shivered. 

He ended up on his knees, spread wide, wrists bound to the headboard. Hannibal was over him, in him, encompassing. Will was filled with him, his scent, his praise, his cock. 

“When was the last time you were allowed to come, sweetheart?” Hannibal murmured. His hips stilled, and Will whined at the loss, squirming on Hannibal’s cock. 

“T-ten days, Sir.” Will’s suspicions about Hannibal’s preferences for denial had been spot on. He’d been allowed release only twice since he’d started wearing the cage, and it was clear Hannibal was building him up to longer and longer sessions. 

Hannibal dropped a hand to Will’s groin, teasing fingers over the clasp. “You know I’m not going to let you come tonight, don’t you, Will?”

Will sobbed. “Yes, Sir.”

“And you aren’t allowed to bring yourself to orgasm without me, are you?”

Will shook his head, trembling. “No, Sir.”

“Good boy,” Hannibal whispered, kissing his cheek as he started to fuck him again, deep and slow, teasing enough to have Will near-tears with how close he was to orgasm. He wrapped a hand around Will’s throat, just teasing pressure there, never once tightening his hold, and told Will how he would miss him, how he would ache for him, as Will would for Hannibal.

When Hannibal came, Will was quivering all over, goosebumps and sweat covering him in equal measure. Hannibal freed Will from the headboard, lay him out on the bed, and eased him back to himself with gentle hands and soft kisses. By the time he got Will into the bath, his eyes weren’t so glazed anymore. When he begged Hannibal to join him in the bath, the man climbed in and held him close.

Will was washed with loving hands, and then both he and Hannibal lay together and enjoyed the hot water, Will pressing chest to chest to Hannibal as he tucked his head beneath his chin. He’d never missed anyone when he’d gone away for work before, aside from his dogs. Now, he felt almost physically ill at the thought of leaving Hannibal.

He almost asked Hannibal to step in, to call Jack, to tell him not to take Will to Maine. But he didn’t. He wasn’t that man, he wasn’t going to be that  _ submissive. _ He could do this. He would do this.

Everything would be fine.

* * *

The stress started before Will even got off the plane. 

He’d only been out of the cage for brief periods since he’d started wearing it, and he was surprised by how distracting his own cock could be. He’d had to adjust himself while dressing for the first time in weeks, and he’d forgotten how easily a stray thought could go straight to his cock. He’d had to purposefully  _ not _ think of Hannibal, of the way he’d wrapped his arms so tightly around Will when they said goodbye at the entrance to the airport. 

It only got worse from there.

Will had hoped that they might catch the killer immediately, that he would get lucky for once in his life. Of course, that hadn’t happened. 

At first, Will followed the rules. Hannibal had written them out for him, folded and tucked into a pocket of Will’s carry-on. He’d read them, over and over again, while they were in the air. 

_ You are to eat two full meals a day, Breakfast and Dinner _ .  _ Something healthy for lunch, even if it’s only a piece of fruit.  _

_ Bedtime is still 11PM. If work keeps you later, you will call for permission. I won’t interfere with your work, but I expect to be asked regardless.  _

_ You will not touch yourself.  _

_ You will not go anywhere but work and meals without permission.  _

_ You will not eat sweets without permission.  _

_ You will not leave bed before 7AM unless required for work.  _

A series of restrictions, meant to keep Will stable on his own, without Hannibal to supervise. For the first few days, Will clung to them. 

He called Hannibal when he could, usually in the evening before bed. They talked about everything, from how Will’s dogs were doing, to what Hannibal had made for dinner that he wished he could have shared with Will. They talked about how they missed each other, and Will felt his chest ache with the knowledge that… he was in love.

He was in love with Hannibal Lecter, his Dom, a man who was so perfect for Will, in every way.

That was dangerous. Love was stupid, he’d been in love before, he’d been abandoned before, he couldn’t have that happen again.

One night, he woke in a cold sweat, having sweated through the bedding, and barely made it to the bathroom before he was sick. Just bile and the remainder of whatever he’d managed to keep down at dinner. He’d been feeling a little off for a few days but this was the first time he’d physically reacted.

Jack was sympathetic and let Will rest the day in his room, though he was still on call as needed.

Will didn’t call Hannibal to tell him. He needn’t worry him. 

Bother. Bother him. Not worry.

Will needed to start distancing himself, start bringing himself back to the understanding that this was a transaction, that Hannibal was a Dominant, and Will was a Submissive, but they weren’t romantically involved. No one would want that, to be romantically involved with Will.

That evening, he didn’t tell Hannibal either. He just mentioned that he had a headache and that he wasn’t sleeping well.

“Would you like me to bring you home?” Hannibal asked him. Will swallowed, shaking his head.

“No,” he said. “I’m… I’m alright. It won’t be too long now.”

He didn’t know how to look at Hannibal, now that he’d realized. He wasn’t sure he could hold himself back, could shove those feelings down. He needed a few more days to get over himself. 

That night, Will couldn’t sleep. He was not supposed to get out of bed after 11, except for the bathroom, but around 1 he grew tired of staring up at the cracks in the ceiling. He went for a walk, pacing up and down the street their hotel was on. 

The next morning, exhausted, he skipped breakfast in favor of extra coffee.

After that, it was just… so easy. He’d gotten into the habit of obeying, of being  _ good _ , but once a rule was broken it was too easy to just keep breaking them. Will skipped meals, or ate Pop Tarts from a vending machine. He slept late and rose early. He wandered the streets.

He lied, when Hannibal asked him about it. Not from fear of punishment, but from shame, and from a reluctance to make Hannibal have to waste more time on him. This should have been a vacation for him, a break from having to care for Will.

The days went on. Will had been gone for two weeks now.

“He can’t keep you forever,” Hannibal insisted one night. 

“We keep finding new information.”

“Information you could peruse just as easily from home.”

“I…” Will chewed his lip, fingers stroking the phone gently, as though he was touching Hannibal by proxy. “Isn’t it easier not to have to look after me all the time?”

“Will.”

Will felt that word like a slap to the face. It was so forceful, so  _ Dominant. _ Will whimpered despite himself. He brought his free hand up to touch his collar. He hadn’t had the heart to take off his collar.

“Yes, Sir?” he whispered.

“I want you to come home.”

Will closed his eyes and chewed his lip again. He could taste blood. He could say no. All he had to do was say no, that he wanted to void his contract, that he wanted nothing to do with Hannibal at all, ever again.

“I can’t,” he managed. “Not yet. Just… just one more week, okay? If it takes longer than a week, I’ll ask you to talk to Jack. but just… just one more. Please?”

Hannibal was quiet for a long time, Will almost thought their call had dropped, but then he heard the deep sigh that suggested Hannibal had given in, albeit reluctantly.

“Tell me how you are,” he asked instead. Will covered the phone to keep his own sigh of relief silent. This was easier. Lying was easier now that he’d started to do it. 

So he didn’t tell him about the dreams, when he did sleep, or the loss or time; seemingly waking up in the middle of a crime scene and having no memory of getting there. That had started to happen more and more often, as had Will’s headaches. Headaches like those he hadn’t had in years. Migraines with auras; auditory, olfactory, visual…

Sometimes the visual auras turned into full blown hallucinations.

Will didn’t tell him that.

He thought, maybe, it was sub withdrawal. He knew better now than to think he was above it. His mind was trying to tell him there was a deficit, he was neglecting his need to submit. Two weeks without a Dom, without listening to the few commands he’d been given.

Will had nothing but the collar now, the collar and the nightly calls. It was withdrawal, it had to be, and he could handle withdrawal. It was only for a little bit, only until he could control himself around Hannibal again.

But withdrawal had never been like this before. Before Hannibal, he’d been irritable, suffering from migraines and insomnia, fatigue. He’d never lost time. He’d never blinked and found he’d somehow driven an hour to conduct an interview. 

He’d never seen shadows stalking him, creeping just out of his line of sight. A stag. A man. He saw them in every waking moment, and on the rare occasion he slept, they twisted into his nightmares. 

They were close to finding the killer, Jack was certain of it. Others had come and gone, rotating out. No one else had been asked to stay in Maine for a month straight, but Will had. And when Jack asked if his Dom was okay with it, Will lied to him, as well. 

Will felt like he was coming apart at the seams. 

“You’re distracted, sweet boy.” Hannibal’s voice was a balm over heated skin. Will blinked. He didn’t remember answering the phone. He didn’t remember going back to the hotel. 

“I’m here, Sir,” Will murmured. 

“Are you?”

When his Dom spoke, it wasn’t Hannibal’s voice that came through the speaker. It was Robert’s, a voice Will hadn’t heard in years. It froze him in his seat. 

The last time he’d seen Robert, Will had been bleeding. He had stripes up and down his back, bruises on his wrists from struggling. The last time he’d seen Robert, Robert had told him exactly what kind of useless Will was. The last time he’d seen Robert, Will had punched him. 

That had been years ago, but that was his voice, and Will had to close his eyes because he was sure, he was  _ sure _ , if he looked, Robert would be in the room with him. 

“You’re not here,” he muttered, “you’re not here right now.”

“Will?” Hannibal’s voice again, concerned this time, warm. Will wanted to drown in it.

“I’m sorry, I-- someone just walked past the room and…” he stood up to close the curtains, even though there was no one there. Even though the person, the phantom he was scared of, was inside the room. Inside Will’s head.

“Will, are you alright?”

“Useless piece of shit,” Robert hissed in Will’s ear. He jerked so hard he dropped the phone. Before he could reach it, someone grabbed his hair and yanked him off balance. “You think he’s going to stick around? You think he’s going to give a  _ shit _ about you like this?”

“Shut up.” Will whined, hands seeking blindly around the floor for his phone. He wouldn’t open his eyes, he wouldn’t give in to his own mind, he  _ couldn’t _ see Robert right then.

“I’m waiting, Will,” Aaron this time. Aaron, who had kicked Will out naked into the rain as punishment for not sucking his cock well enough. Aaron, who had almost hanged Will during a game of chicken Will had never consented to. Aaron, who had introduced Will to Robert, who Will had thought he could escape to, be safe with.

“No, no, no, please,” Will whined, finally finding the phone and fumbling with it to his ear again. “Hannibal, please, please say something.”

“I’m here, Will,” Hannibal didn’t sound stern, he sounded  _ lost. _ Will had fucked up  _ that badly. _ “I’m going to call Jack now--”

“NO! No that’s… that’s fine, I’m fine, I’m just--”

“A fucking mess,” Aaron hissed.

“A slut,” Robert added. Will kicked out, shoving against the floor until he sequestered himself in a corner.

“I’m sorry,” Will said quietly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called, you have things to do.”

“I called you, Will,” Hannibal reminded him. “And I will be calling Jack. You’re not well.”

“I’m fine,” Will whispered, too panicked to make it sound like anything but a lie, “I’m fine, I’m fine, I’ll-”

“You’ll get on your fucking knees like I told you to,” Robert hissed, just like he had the night he beat Will bloody the first time. The time Will didn’t leave, when he should have, because he would rather have someone he had to fight than be alone.

“Stop,” Will whispered, “Just stop, just leave me alone.”

“WILL.”

Hannibal’s voice was sharp, commanding, unavoidable. Will caved under its weight immediately. 

“Sir,” he whimpered. He felt fragile, or perhaps already shattered. 

“Close your eyes.”

Will obeyed. It felt worse to be trapped in the dark, when voices could be lingering, waiting for him to break down. 

“Deep breath.”

Will sucked in a shaking gasp. 

“I am going to call Jack,” Hannibal said firmly. “Then I am going to get to the airport. I will be with you in a matter of hours. You are going to listen to Jack, and let him take you to the hospital.”

“No,” Will whispered, “No, I don’t need to go to the hospital, I don’t want to go.”

“You will go to the hospital, Will, because I told you to,” Hannibal repeated, words slow and firm to slip through Will’s panic and the white noise in his head. He whimpered again. 

“I’ll go to the hospital, Sir,” he sobbed quietly. He felt like he was coming apart at the seams.

“Good boy,” Hannibal’s words were louder than the imagined voices of Will’s past, he clung to them. “You’re so good for me. I will meet you there, at the hospital, and we can figure out what’s going on.”

“I’m sorry,” Will whispered. 

“Listen to Jack,” Hannibal repeated, “wait for me, alright?”

“Yeah,” Will sighed, “yeah.”

“Good boy,” Hannibal told him again. “Good boy, Will.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You fear abandonment,” Hannibal murmured. It wasn’t a question, they both knew it was true. “You fear it because you’ve always been abandoned before, when you opened up, when you trusted someone.”_

Will hated hospitals. 

He’d been in several, for a variety of reasons, and every time he felt like he was on the verge of being locked up forever.

They always seemed to want to ask him questions about his dynamic, about his well-being. They always looked skeptical of the answers he gave, as if he was just skirting the line that would allow them to keep him trapped there. 

When he’d needed to have the marks from his previous Doms dealt with, he’d thought for sure he’d never walk back out. 

Jack was stiff in the chair beside his as they lingered in the ER, waiting. Will had refused to go in at first, had refused to even leave the hotel until he knew when Hannibal’s flight would land, and then only because Hannibal had chided him for not allowing Jack to take him when he’d first come knocking.

Hannibal had told him he was digging himself deeper, and the amount of trouble Will was going to be in made him slightly nauseous, but there was still a good hour and a half before he could even hope to see Hannibal, and then only if everything went smoothly leaving the airport. 

Jack hadn’t been told exactly what was wrong with Will, but he’d seen the bags under his red eyes, the way his hands shook, and he had immediately gone serious. He and Will had argued loudly over the delay, and even now he was trying to coax Will to check in. 

“You could at least let them get your vitals and get you in a room,” Jack said. “Tell the doctor whatever it is you’re going through.”

“I’m  _ fine, _ Jack.”

“We both know you’re  _ not, _ Will,” Jack snapped back. “You do realize it is within my power to forcibly have you taken in right now? As your employer, as someone worried for your state of mind.”

“You wouldn’t,” Will replied, just as irritated. Jack gave him a look that immediately said he would, and he wouldn’t even be sorry about it. He had no reason to fear Hannibal’s wrath, at worst he would speak with Jack about keeping a better eye on Will, or he would wheedle -- no, Hannibal didn’t wheedle, he would negotiate -- time away from work for Will for a few weeks. He wouldn’t punish Jack like he would punish Will.

Will swallowed, turning to look at the clock again. It hadn’t moved much since he’d checked last time.

“Will, you have one more chance to go in on your own power, before I invoke my right as head of the BAU,” Jack told him, tone low. Will showed his teeth and actually growled before bringing his hands to his hair and tugging it so hard he felt some pull from his scalp.

“Fuck,” Will groaned. “Fine.  _ Fine. _ But you don’t let them put me under until Hannibal is here. Promise me.”

“You have my word, Will,” Jack told him. “Go check yourself in.”

Will procrastinated five more minutes, going to the bathroom, coming back out, making a show of drying his hands on his jacket. Then he finally approached the desk and gave his information.

A young male nurse took him into a room to get his vitals, to ask him questions. Will answered as honestly as he could; there was no point in lying anymore, once Hannibal arrived, and if he found out Will had mangled facts, he would be in for it. So he was honest. About his lack of sleep, about his loss of time, about his headaches, about his nausea.

“Do you have a history of mental illness in your family?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Will muttered. “Wasn’t particularly close to my folks.”

The young man wasn’t put off by Will’s snarling nature, but he did look more concerned than when he’d first taken Will in. He took some blood, put in a cannula, and left Will to wait on his own, with the door half-closed to allow him to see the waiting room.

Will was on edge. He drew his knees up to his chest, clinging in his flimsy hospital gown. He wanted to be home, in the large bed he shared with Hannibal, buried under a pile of blankets. 

For once in his life, Will was grateful for the tedious time consuming nature of an ER visit. It had taken several long minutes after Will had checked in to get him back into a room, longer still for a second nurse to come by and ask the same damn questions Will had already answered. She wore the same concerned expression, and promised him the doctor would be along shortly. Of course, he wasn’t, because they never were. Will stopped keeping track of time, his head pounding. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, disoriented, the doctor had finally arrived. 

“Mr. Graham,” the doctor said, checking her chart. “Can you tell me a little bit more about why you’re here today?”

For the third time that night, Will repeated his symptoms. For the third time, someone gave him a concerned look. 

“These hallucinations you’ve been having, are they audible? Visual?”

“Both, in turns,” Will said. “And often. They--” Will stopped, cheeks coloring as he realized someone else had heard. 

Hannibal had arrived in the doorway. 

The doctor turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “Can I help you, sir?”

“I apologize for interrupting, I’m Doctor Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham’s Dominant.”

“Oh, Doctor,” she smiled, gesturing. “Please come in, we were just going over Mr. Graham’s symptoms.”

“So I heard,” Hannibal said, stepping into the room and leaning his hip against the end of Will’s bed. “He was telling you about his hallucinations, both auditory and visual, that he gets  _ often.” _

The look he gave Will made his entire insides quake. He swallowed. After a moment, Hannibal gestured with his chin that Will look at his doctor again, and answer her questions.

“They… they interrupt my sleep. I don’t sleep well.”

“Do you hear voices telling you what to do?”

“No,” Will snorted, shaking his head. “No, I’m not schizophrenic.”

“We’ll look into that,” the doctor assured him, writing something in her notes. “Do you experience any other symptoms that are unusual for you?”

Will told her everything. He told her and felt his cheeks burn, knowing Hannibal was watching, was listening, and was picking out every single lie Will had told him over the last few weeks.

By the time the doctor left, Will felt like he was going to be sick, and it had nothing to do with why he was in the hospital in the first place. He swallowed thickly, drew his knees up even closer to himself and refused to look at Hannibal, though he could feel his eyes on him. And god, god he missed being looked at by him, he missed being touched by him, he missed Hannibal with every fibre of his being, and that was wrong, that was so wrong, it was why he was in this mess in the first place.

“Will,” Hannibal’s tone was even, but firm, and Will’s shoulders tensed. “Look at me, please.”

Will took a shuddering breath and ventured his gaze his way. Hannibal looked so stern. Will felt overwhelmed with desire and panic at once.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” he whispered, knowing his lie would be seen through immediately.

Hannibal held up a hand. “Lying,” he said, ticking one finger off. “Lying every night for weeks.” Another finger. “Endangering your health. Endangering your  _ safety _ when you knew you were driving during dissociative episodes and still didn’t seek help. Perhaps we should add lying a third time. Presumably you also disregarded rules I’d set out for you.” Hannibal waited for Will’s shamed, red-faced nod, and started his hand all over again, ticking off ‘six’ on his index finger. “I specifically told you to come home, you declined, even knowing you were unwell. You resisted my instructions to seek medical care. And now you lie to me  _ again _ .”

In the end, Hannibal had counted eight sins. Redundancy was unlike him, but it wasn’t as though Will could insist he  _ hadn’t _ earned so many counts for his lies. He blanched, and hid his face against his knees. 

Hannibal wound strong fingers in Will’s hair and forced his head up, until their eyes met. “I’m more worried than I am angry,” he told Will. “I  _ am _ disappointed, and we  _ will _ be dealing with this flagrant disobedience, but my concern for you outweighs that. You put your  _ life _ at risk, Will.”

“I know,” Will said quietly. “I know, I’m sorry.”

In truth, he couldn’t be sure he would have made any different decisions. He wasn’t used to relying on people; he didn’t know what to do in the face of Hannibal’s concern. 

He wasn’t sure he could  _ trust _ Hannibal’s concern, either, and he hated himself for even thinking that. Hannibal had never been false with him, and yet Will could not help the nagging fear that everything was ruined, over, and Hannibal was just waiting to tell him until he could beat him first. 

The hand in his hair gentled, and Hannibal sat a bit more comfortably on the thin mattress as he stroked Will’s curls, scratching gently at his scalp.

“Sweet boy,” he sighed, resigned almost. Will made a soft sound. “Why would you suffer like this and not tell me? Being human isn’t a weakness, Will, getting sick is out of your hands sometimes.”

He didn’t press Will for an answer, and Will didn’t give one. He had none. All he could say, if he did speak, was  _ I’m sorry, _ over and over. But words were hollow, words meant jack shit if he couldn’t back them up, and Will didn’t know  _ how _ to back them up.

After what felt like an eternity, Will’s doctor returned.

“We’ve booked you in for an MRI and a CAT scan when the machines are free again. It might be a few hours’ wait but we’ve marked you as high priority. We’ll also take some more blood tests, your first came back with a high white blood cell count.”

Will swallowed, nodded. Then the doctor turned to Hannibal.

“May I have a word outside?”

Hannibal hummed, a sound not at all pleased, but acquiesced, following the doctor out into the hallway.

“If this is to do with Will’s health, I’d rather he hear what you have to say,” Hannibal told her quietly.

“It’s merely speculation at this point,” she replied, flipping through her folder, “I don’t make a habit of offering speculation without backup, but I wanted to ask you if you’d noticed Mr. Graham exhibiting any of the symptoms he’d described when he was home with you?”

“None,” Hannibal told her honestly. “We had been working on his sleep schedule, he seemed to be well-rested most mornings, and I’ve never seen him dissociate.” Hannibal swallowed. “What are your speculations?”

“There are a few,” she said. “We can’t rule out late onset schizophrenia, but that’s outside of my expertise. Physically, I worry there’s something in the brain. A tumor, a growth, perhaps. If this is something that’s not been happening for long, it could be an infection. Encephalitis, maybe.”

Hannibal nodded. The doctor reached out to set a hand on his shoulder. 

“You’re welcome to stay with him, of course. If you’re his signator for medical procedures--”

“No, Will has full control over that,” Hannibal said.

“Then for support,” she smiled, squeezing his shoulder before releasing him. “I hope the scans won’t be long, but we are in for a night of tests and poking and prodding. I’ll have someone come by soon and start a drip for him, saline and some pain relief.”

When Hannibal returned to the room, Will was quickly wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, sniffing the last of his emotions back behind a wall. Hannibal closed the door and moved to sit on the bed properly, gently guiding Will to lay supine, head in his lap, so Hannibal could continue stroking his hair.

Will’s tension didn’t ease, for a long moment. Hannibal kept at it. He knew his boy, and he knew how much Will could resist. Eventually, Will’s resolve buckled, and he sank into the gentle touches. 

“What’s the verdict?” Will muttered. “What’s so scary we couldn’t let the poor, broken sub know?

Hannibal’s next pass cupped Will’s neck, then traveled down, a warm path down his side, over his hip, and back up again. Will gave a soft shudder in his lap. “The doctor has not ruled out schizophrenia,” Hannibal said, and all his work was undone as Will tensed up. 

“I’m  _ not _ crazy,” he said. “I’m  _ not _ , I-”

Hannibal cupped his jaw and tilted his head up. “If you had schizophrenia, it would not be a moral failing on your part,” He said sternly, forcing Will to meet his gaze. “Mental illness is not a death sentence. If you had schizophrenia, it is something we would deal with together. Managed properly, it wouldn’t prevent you from doing the work you love, or from being mine.”

Will’s cheeks colored. Shame was displeasing on his features; if Hannibal had his way, Will would never struggle so. But Will was Will, and not a doll for Hannibal to pose. Hannibal had to take all of him, struggles included, and he would do so happily. 

“But no,” Hannibal added, “I don’t believe you have schizophrenia. The doctor has suggested, and I’m inclined to agree, that it is likely something physical. Infection, perhaps, to have come on so quickly.”

Will swallowed and nuzzled into Hannibal’s lap. He didn’t say anything. He had nothing to say. Something physical was usually code for cancer. And maybe he did have cancer. Maybe he was on the verge of dying. Maybe--

“Whatever it is, we will work through it together,” Hannibal said, moving his hand to rub Will’s back as he lay against him.

After a time, someone came in to set a drip up for Will. They said nothing in regards to how Will was laying on the bed, or, more accurately, on Hannibal, and left as quietly as they’d come. Soon, Will’s breathing was easing into a restful rhythm. He jerked himself awake, and Hannibal hushed him.

“Sleep,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere, and it will be quite a wait.”

It turned out to be several hours’ wait before they could get Will into the MRI. Hannibal asked to be in the booth with the technicians, his voice soothing Will when they removed his collar and he started getting nervous in the tiny space. He watched the scans as they came through, watched the infection and swelling show up on Will’s brain like a cold front passing over the ocean.

There were no growths, no tumors. Hannibal let out a soft sigh of relief.

Will was still groggy and exhausted when they returned him to his room, and only heard the diagnosis when he woke again, hours later.

“We’ll keep you in the hospital for observation as you recover,” his doctor said. “It’s important to make sure that you’re getting  _ better, _ not  _ worse, _ and we can monitor that much more effectively here.”

Will was set up with another drip, steadily feeding antibiotics straight into his bloodstream, and a whole slew of medicines to take orally. When Hannibal stood up from the bed, Will reached out to catch his sleeve.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, brows furrowed and cheeks warm. “I thought it… I thought it was just withdrawals, like before. I thought maybe, because I’d had time with you, with a Dominant, for the first time in years, that they were just worse.”

Hannibal pulled a chair closer and sat down, taking Will’s hand with both of his own and kissing his fingertips.

“Likely, it was, at first,” he said, turning Will’s hand to press another kiss to his wrist. “Before, you had adjusted to the isolation. Withdrawal symptoms would have been slower to grow, and milder when they came. You went from a 24/7 dynamic to near complete isolation. Withdrawal would be far stronger in that situation. And withdrawal weakens the immune system, allowing for disease, infection.”

“Encephalitis,” Will muttered. Hannibal nodded. He fixed Will with a serious look, one that made Will’s stomach twist into knots.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

This, this was the question Will had feared. More than anything else, he had hoped to avoid this question. He’d known it was an impossibility, but he’d yearned for it anyway. 

“I really  _ didn’t _ want you to worry,” he mumbled. “But more than that, I… I wasn’t sure you  _ would _ .” Hannibal’s brow furrowed, and Will sucked in a breath when he realized how horrible that sounded. “No!” He yelped. “No, I just meant… I meant…”

Instead of letting him go, Hannibal’s hand squeezed tighter around his, and Hannibal drew his hand up once more to kiss the knuckles. “Take your time,” he whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Will hurt, deep in his chest. So deep down, he wasn’t sure anything would reach it. “But what if you  _ were _ ?” he whispered. “What if this was too much, if  _ I _ was too much? What happens when you finally get bored?”

Will bit his lip and stopped the rest of the words that wanted to pour out of him. He hoped the damn sedative in his system would kick in soon and he could blame his idiocy on the drugs. He felt Hannibal squeeze his hand again, felt his breath soft over Will’s skin as he kissed his knuckles once more, then turned to nuzzle his cheek against them.

“You fear abandonment,” Hannibal murmured. It wasn’t a question, they both knew it was true. “You fear it because you’ve always been abandoned before, when you opened up, when you trusted someone.”

Will nodded, just a sharp jerk of his head. They’d taken his collar off for the MRI and he’d panicked. Now, it was on again and he shifted just enough to feel it pressing a little tighter to his skin. A reminder, the last thing he’d clung on to.

“I can’t promise forever, Will,” Hannibal told him honestly. “No one knows forever. But I can promise you that for as long as you let me, I will keep you safe, and satisfied, and cared for.”

Will made a helpless little sound and brought a hand to his face, pressing fingers to his eyes until he saw stars.

“But why?” he managed, through gritted teeth. “I’m a  _ mess! _ I’m disobedient, irrational, I do things on a whim, I hurt myself, and thus hurt you, I’m  _ useless--” _

“No,” Hannibal said, reaching to take Will’s other hand too. “You are headstrong and clever. You’re used to being independent. You overwork yourself to prove to others that you don’t need help, and you burn yourself out. And,” he added, leaning in a little closer, “you’re a very obedient boy when you want to be.”

Will squirmed a little. Hannibal sighed against his cheek, resting his head on the same plastic pillow.

“Attraction is not a deal breaker, Will. This isn’t a transaction, this is a partnership, a relationship. Perhaps I’m at fault for not telling you often enough how happy you make me, how fulfilled I feel taking care of you.”

It  _ hurt _ . It hurt to be told such things, to have Hannibal reciting words Will would have longed for, had he known he could. He felt his chest cracking in two. 

Will had tried to avoid it. Hannibal was brilliant for Will, but  _ Will _ was not very good for Hannibal. He was going to bring Hannibal down with him. He couldn’t sustain a good relationship for long. There was only so long he could pretend to be a good sub before he fucked everything up. 

“You don’t understand,” Will told him. 

“Don’t I?” 

“No!” Will said. “No, because you’re  _ you _ , and I’m  _ me.” _

“Will,” Hannibal said, “have I ever given you any reason to believe I want you to be anything else?”

No, he hadn’t. And that was almost worse. “You don’t understand,” Will said again. “I’ve taken it too far. I’m overstepping. This was supposed to be just. Just an  _ arrangement,  _ but I’m in love with you.”

Hannibal sighed against him again, and Will tensed, preparing for him to let go of his hands, preparing for Hannibal to pull back and tell Will that this is inappropriate, that he’ll make arrangements for his things to be returned to Wolf Trap while he’s in hospital.

Instead, he felt lips press to his cheek.

A goodbye kiss. Of course. Hannibal was a gentleman, he’d never just leave someone without the proper etiquette.

But then Hannibal kissed him again, moving up the line of his cheekbone, and higher still, just beneath his eye, and then a gentle hand came up to cup Will’s cheek and turn his face just enough for their lips to meet and Hannibal was kissing him so softly, so adoringly, that Will’s entire body felt like it was on fire.

When Hannibal pulled back, nose nuzzling Will’s, Will reached up to touch his face too.

“That was a very sweet goodbye kiss,” he mumbled, and Hannibal laughed, actually  _ laughed _ at that, pulling back enough to look at Will properly.

“Silly boy,” Hannibal said, tucking Will’s curls up from his forehead, behind his ear. “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not going anywhere.”

Will blinked at him, cheeks florid. “But.. I just… I just ruined--”

“You did nothing wrong, nor did you say anything wrong,” Hannibal told him, still stroking his face. “Will, had I no affection for you, I wouldn’t push you to be your best self, I wouldn’t seek to bring you endless pleasure in bed, I wouldn’t fly across state lines at the drop of a hat because you were unwell.”

Will blushed deeper. Hannibal just leaned in to kiss his forehead.

“I think I have loved you for a good long while without knowing if love was the right word to put to my feelings,” he admitted, nosing at Will’s hair.

Will was breaking. He was already broken. He had shattered into a thousand pieces long before Hannibal had ever found him, and now…

Now, he still felt like he was made up of jagged, sharp edges, but warm and careful hands were sanding him down, like ocean waves forming sea glass out of discarded bottles. 

There was a sound, ragged, raw. Will didn’t realize it was him until Hannibal was climbing back into the hospital bed, dragging Will bodily into his lap. He pinned Will’s arms, bringing his legs up to cage Will, compressing him into a tight ball, until Will couldn’t move, couldn’t see. All he could do was feel Hannibal holding him. 

“Sweet boy,” Hannibal told him. “I have you. You’re safe. You don’t have to do this alone, Will.”

He had always done it alone. He had always taken care of himself. Even when there had been Doms, Will had managed much of his own aftercare. 

But now, he didn’t have to. Now, he could tuck his nose into Hannibal’s throat and let Hannibal pin him,  _ keep  _ him. Now he had a collar around his throat, a strong hand caging his wrists when he squirmed, pinning them against his chest. 

Now, he had Hannibal. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I was wondering… could you, uh, could we return to some of our routines? Please?”_
> 
> _Hannibal turned to look at him over his shoulder. “Of course. Which?”_
> 
> _“Any you like,” Will replied, relieved. “All of them if you want.”_
> 
> _“But I asked you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE, BEING SICK IS HARD!

Will was granted a stay of execution, by necessity. 

It wasn’t as though Hannibal  _ couldn’t _ punish him in the hospital. Will had a solo room for a reason, after all, as would most attached subs unless the space was absolutely needed. All Hannibal needed to do was shut the door, and they would have privacy.

Or  _ not _ shut the door, if he was feeling particularly cruel.

But he chose not to. “Your health comes first,” he told Will. “You need to recover. Your body needs no further strain while we are here.”

So instead, Will got to worry, and build the punishment up in his head, for nearly a week.

Hannibal didn’t neglect his instincts; submissive withdrawal had been what got them into this mess in the first place, and he was not about to let Will sink further. But he didn’t  _ punish _ him. He indulged him in small doses, nothing too strenuous. 

“Why didn’t  _ you _ get sick?” Will asked on the third day, wrists bound to the bars on either side of his hospital bed, Hannibal’s hand rubbing soothing circles onto his stomach. 

“I’ve managed my needs efficiently for years,” Hannibal explained. 

“Yeah, with  _ clinics _ ,” Will said, eyes widening slightly at the unpleasant thought. Hannibal frowned.

“There were no professionals involved,” Hannibal said sternly. “I did what  _ you _ were meant to be doing. I surrounded myself with reminders of you, and called you frequently to indulge our emotional bond. And I did my exercises.”

Meditation. Will wrinkled his nose in displeasure. 

Hannibal crossed his arms over the bar and rested his chin atop, looking at Will with slightly narrowed eyes. 

“I missed you terribly,” he admitted after a moment. “Sleep eluded me. As did my appetite.”

“You didn’t eat?” Will asked, at once surprised and amused.  _ “You?” _

“Me,” Hannibal agreed, with a soft smile. He reached out with one hand to stroke Will’s stomach once more. “As I assume you did not. Not anything nutritious.”

Will looked away, guilty.

A week later, he was deemed fit enough to fly home, and Hannibal fussed around him in a way only Hannibal could. He didn’t stop touching Will, whether it was a hand on his elbow, against the small of his back, massaging gently against Will’s scalp as they waited to board. Will slept through the flight, and through most of the drive back to Hannibal’s.

“Will?”

Will blinked. He’d been standing in the hall like a man hypnotised, unsure what to do or where to go. As though he’d never been in this house before, as though it wasn’t a home away from home for him. He swallowed and gave Hannibal a guilty look.

He didn’t feel like he had a right to be here anymore. He didn’t feel like he was worthy of that anymore.

“Come here to me,” Hannibal coaxed, enveloping Will in a tight, warm embrace when he pressed close. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Will’s words dried up. He had reached a new level of anxious: professing how horrificly ill-suited he was for Hannibal had yet to achieve the expected results, and in fact, tended to lead to reassurances Will wasn’t capable of internalizing. Lying, on the other hand, was only going to make things worse.

Hannibal gave Will time, running his palm up and down Will’s spine, grounding him here in this moment. 

“There’s no ‘correct’ answer, Will,” he said. “I am not expecting you to placate me. I want your honesty, so that I can help you.”

Sometimes Hannibal seemed too perfect. It reminded Will that he was a therapist, that he had started his relationship with Will as a job. A chore. A necessary task required to complete his goals for the day. 

Hannibal said he loved Will, but moments like this, Will remembered that he had been thrust upon Hannibal, not sought out. 

“I’m,” Will said. “I feel.” Confessions were always so difficult, the words sticking in Will’s throat, jagged and sharp, tearing him up from the inside. 

“Deep breath,” Hannibal commanded. Will obeyed without hesitation, tuned into Hannibal so thoroughly, now. 

“I’m wrong,” Will finally said. “I don’t deserve to be here. I lied to you constantly. I was so… disobedient.”

“You were,” Hannibal agreed, but he didn’t let Will go, he didn’t push him away. “Just as you were when you used your safeword to have me stop your spanking, needing to know that I would respect it, always.”

“That’s…” Will swallowed. He knew it was a similar thing, the same thing, if he allowed himself to be completely honest with himself, but he hated the thought of it. Having it said aloud made it sound…  _ awful. _ “I’m sorry.”

“I know you are,” Hannibal told him, turning his face against Will’s hair with a gentle sigh. “Just as I know that you deserve to be here with me.”

Will made a sound and clung close. For a moment, another, before pushing back just enough to look up at Hannibal.

“I’m very tired,” he admitted apologetically. Hannibal cupped his cheek.

“Something to eat first,” he said.

He made them both a quick omelette and watched Will eat it. He brewed Will some soothing tea, made sure he took his medication, and guided Will upstairs to their bedroom.

Will slept like the dead.

* * *

Hannibal didn’t.

He spent a long time just watching Will rest, the way his back rose and fell on even, deep breaths over and over. He had known that something was wrong almost as soon as Will had admitted to starting to misbehave. It was instinctual, almost painful, like a squeezing, stifling feeling that left Hannibal somewhat breathless.

He’d never felt that before, not with any other submissive.

He would punish Will - because he knew that for the security and the strength of their relationship he needed to be punished - eventually. For the moment, Hannibal wanted to hold him, to breathe him in, to surround himself with Will.

Why hadn’t he gotten sick? He wasn’t sure that he hadn’t.

Perhaps he just knew how to manage by now. After decades of only a few short-term relationships and visits to dynamic clinics, Hannibal had become adept at recognizing and heading off symptoms, unlike Will, whose preferred method was to ignore symptoms entirely.

In the last few weeks, had headaches seemed more common, more persistent? Had Hannibal been more irritable than usual, on edge, skin crawling with every client he was forced to interact with?

If Hannibal was honest with himself, yes. 

It wasn’t that he hadn’t felt the loss of Will keenly, but he knew how to handle himself when things were difficult. Will didn’t. Will had never needed to. He had shown up at Hannibal’s doorstep with years of neglect on his shoulders, pockets full of aspirin, palms sweaty, hands shaking. Hannibal had pages of notes on Will’s background. The night terrors, the insomnia, the migraines.

Hannibal should have known better than to let him go off on his own. He should have rearranged his schedule and gone with him. He’d known when he first met Will that he was only months away from a total shut down, from withdrawal completely overtaking him. Some people struggled with symptoms for months or even years, still pushing through. Others had died. 

If Hannibal had not been on the phone with Will that night, if he had not caught it, if infection had been left to burn through Will’s brain for another week…

Will jerked in his sleep and Hannibal sat stone still until Will sighed and eased into sleep again. Not a nightmare, just a spasm of exhausted muscles, of a body finally allowed to sleep in a bed that was comfortable, that was his own.

Had he truly let Will think, for so long, that he was unloved? Had he truly assumed that such a damaged and headstrong man would just  _ know _ that Hannibal felt for him far more than a doctor for a patient, or one friend to another? Hannibal could admit his faults when they raised their heads. He had grown complacent, stupid in the routine. He had assumed when he should have been guiding, he had taken for granted things that to Will were paramount.

It was early morning by the time Hannibal finally managed to close his eyes and ease into some form of rest. He had taken the time off work to look after Will in hospital, and had taken another week to assure a smooth transition back into active life for them both, so he had nothing to wake early for. He had Will, and Will’s needs, and to make up for his own absentminded error.

* * *

Jack had signed off on Will’s leave from work until such a time as Hannibal felt he was safe to return to it. He’d seen Will come close to falling off the deep end before, but never as badly as when he’d accompanied him to the hospital. He may have been his best dog, but Jack had no reason to see Will broken.

Because of this, Will often found himself idle, unsure of what to do with himself when he had only his dogs and Hannibal and time.

No classes to plan, no papers to grade, no cases to solve.

He didn’t even know if the one he’d gone insane on had been solved; he’d been taken off the case and wasn’t privy to that information anymore.

Their second night back, after Hannibal drove them to Wolf Trap and picked up the dogs from Will’s usual sitter, Will found him in the kitchen, preparing something to drink. It smelled warm and homely, it made Will feel sleepy just breathing it in. He stood at the counter and chewed his lip before finally finding his words again.

“I was wondering… could you, uh, could we return to some of our routines? Please?”

Hannibal turned to look at him over his shoulder. “Of course. Which?”

“Any you like,” Will replied, relieved. “All of them if you want.”

“But I asked you.”

Will wanted to squirm, to fidget like a middle schooler called to the front of the class. He had thought about this for weeks, first when he’d been adrift and losing his mind in a cheap hotel room, then when Hannibal had fed him scraps of dominance in the hospital, little tidbits to keep him from falling to pieces.

_ Saying it _ , though, that seemed as if it would always be difficult. Will had always responded poorly to embarrassment, and with Hannibal there was an added layer of heat, of control and submission. 

That Hannibal clearly liked hearing the words only made it worse, in Will’s opinion. The pleased, heated expression would flood Will with warmth, both humiliation and arousal combined.

“I need to be spanked,” Will said. Blunt, to the point, and not at all what he’d meant to say. He’d meant to beat around the bush, and certainly to imply it was a  _ want _ , something he could take or leave.

His tongue betrayed him, as it always seemed to around Hannibal.  _ Need _ . He  _ needed _ to be spanked. Like he needed to eat, to sleep, to breathe. Will had gone to bed with bruises on his backside for weeks, and now he felt pale, clean, pure, and he  _ hated  _ it.

The pleased smile Will had imagined spread slow and easy across Hannibal’s face. “Do you, now?” he asked, tone deceptively mild, as if they both couldn’t see his self-satisfaction. 

“You know I do,” Will said, a hint of embarrassed defensiveness creeping into his own voice. “You ensured it.”

“I merely guided what was already there,” Hannibal said, pressing a hot mug into Will’s hands. “Though I confess to being quite pleased with the results. Should I presume you’re ready to begin our nightly routine again?”   
  
Will took a slow sip before nodding. Hannibal raised an eyebrow. Will swallowed.

“Yes, please.”

“Good boy,” Hannibal kissed his forehead. “Then we shall, this evening.”

They had gone to Wolf Trap to allow Will a safe place to settle back into himself. Everything here had remained much the same since he’d moved out; the bed was still in the living room, the upstairs was still cluttered up with unfinished projects and oil-leaking engines he’d never gotten around to fixing up properly. Some dog beds. All of Will’s mismatching kitchenware and towels.

It smelled like home. 

It felt like home.

It felt wonderful having Hannibal there, just as comfortable in the space as Will was.

In the time before bed, Hannibal lit a fire, and he and Will pressed together on the lumpy couch to read as the dogs lounged around their well-walked space. Will only knew it was time to get up because Hannibal kissed the top of his head; he’d been reading the same line on his page over and over.

“Up you get, sweet boy,” he murmured. “Get undressed for me while I let the dogs out.”

Excitement bubbled up in Will’s chest, bursting like hiccups, jolts of electricity skimming just under his skin. He told himself that he should feel anxious, but for the first time in weeks, he  _ didn’t.  _ For the first time in weeks, he felt whole.

Will hadn’t realized how much he’d come to rely on these daily sessions until they stopped. The first week away from Hannibal, he’d laid awake, contemplating the ceiling. Contemplating the smooth wooden back of his hairbrush.

If he’d spanked himself, Hannibal would have found out somehow, and Will could not imagine a fate more mortifying, no matter how much Hannibal surely would have enjoyed it. 

The temptation had been there, though, lingering in his thoughts. He’d slept poorly for weeks, first from insomnia, then from the sort of heavy, unrestful oversleeping only true exhaustion could bring. 

Now, Will went from tired to  _ charged _ , wide awake, hands trembling with his eagerness. He stripped completely, first shoving his clothes to the side, then guiltily gathering them up and tucking them into the laundry room before Hannibal could chide him on his messiness.

His nerve endings had all come to life, as if he could already feel Hannibal’s hands on his skin. Will’s body was tingling. He wanted to be touched. It wasn’t even a sexual urge, just a strong, overwhelming yearning. 

When Hannibal returned, Will was in position, hands clasped behind his back, head bowed, back straight, but he wasn’t  _ still _ . He was shifting, foot to foot, impatient, needy.

“Calm,” Hannibal told him, his smile obvious in his tone. He set one hand beneath Will’s chin and stroked his lips with his thumb. “Deep breaths.”

Will obeyed, letting his eyes slip closed as he did. He breathed until his body stopped shifting, until he felt almost lightheaded, despite getting enough air into his lungs. He was giddy. He was so damn wired.

“There’s my good boy,” Hannibal praised him, cupping his cheek before stroking that hand through his hair. He moved away, and Will bit his lip when he heard the squeak of his bedsprings as Hannibal sat down on the mattress. “Come here to me.”

Will did, trying not to rush over, trying to keep his composure, but when he got close to Hannibal he couldn’t help but smile wide, and duck his head to try and hide it. Hannibal’s answering smile warmed Will to the core. 

He’d learned in their time together -- before the lies, before… this… -- that Hannibal had no qualms about Will reaching out for physical comfort, for kisses, for affection, unless he was expression forbidden by the framework of a scene. So he bent over and kissed Hannibal, one hand against his cheek, the other still pressed behind his back. Hannibal opened his mouth to it, mirrored the way Will’s hand touched him against Will’s own face, and nuzzled him when he pulled away.

“I’ve missed you,” Hannibal admitted to him gently. “I love you.”

Will grinned, bright and pleased. “I’ve missed you too,” he managed. He wasn’t sure he could quite bring himself to say the rest, despite how true it was. Saying it once had felt like shattering a huge glass dome that had started to choke him. He didn’t know if he had the strength for that kind of impact just then.

“Get into position for me,” Hannibal told him, seemingly unfazed. “You know how I like to see you.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Will felt rusty and uncoordinated as he bent himself into place, draped over Hannibal’s lap, palms flat on the floor, up on his toes to present himself properly for Hannibal’s hand. 

Hannibal’s slacks always felt soft against his bare skin, though Will imagined they should have felt rough. The fabric should have been coarse and grating, instead it was a comfort. 

Hannibal’s hand rested on the small of Will’s back, as it always did, and Will sank beneath the pressure. 

“I am not going to have you count tonight,” Hannibal explained. He often didn’t, though sometimes he liked to give Will that extra focal point. “Instead, I want you to relax into it, let yourself drift wherever you need to go.”

Will already felt like he was drifting. He closed his eyes, digging his nails into the rough, worn carpet. Hannibal’s hand came down, a burning spark against Will’s backside, and Will wanted to sob with relief.

No one else had ever touched him like this,  _ would _ ever touch him like this. No other Dom had known how to take care of Will, but Hannibal did. Hannibal knew how to make him float, how to take him out of his head.

After only a few minutes, Will was crying, tears streaming, eyes shut tight as he whimpered. He dug his toes into the floor, breath coming in shuddering gasps as Hannibal turned his ass a deep, painful red. 

Nightly spankings were rarely a test of endurance. In fact, they usually felt almost like a caress compared to how Will and Hannibal _ could _ play together, but after so long without, Will felt every nerve ending sparking. He felt wanted, and worthy, and wonderful, and his body was responding in a way he couldn't control anymore.

He was still sobbing when Hannibal eased him out of the bent position and down to his knees instead, still, when Hannibal knelt beside him and pulled Will into a tight embrace. Then he clung on, tugging at Hannibal's arm until that wasn't enough, and Will moved to crawl into his lap instead.

When he caught his breath again, Hannibal was still holding him, and Will felt the giddiness within him bubble up again. This time, it came out as a laugh. 

"Thank you," he managed, sniffing and drawing the back of his hand against his eyes. He let Hannibal take his hand, let him unfold his tense fingers to kiss each one and then his palm after.

"You're beautiful," Hannibal assured him, and Will laughed again, shaking his head. It wasn't that he didn't believe him -- it was hard not to believe Hannibal when he spoke so earnestly -- it was that he didn't believe he still had this, after all he'd done. Will pressed his forehead against Hannibal's and sighed.

"Bed?"

Hannibal hummed, stroking his thumb over Will's pink cheek.

"Bed," he agreed.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Alright, Will,” he murmured, letting his nails draw gently over Will’s scalp until he shivered. “Let’s begin.”_  
>  The punishment starts

Will went in for more scans, and the scans came back clean.

He finished his medication and with Hannibal’s professional permission didn’t start another round of them.

He felt better.

He felt better than he had in a long time.

Hannibal hadn’t expressed any desire to have Will return to work just yet, and if Will were honest, he wasn’t looking forward to coming back either. Perhaps for a time, for a short time, he could enjoy being just himself. With Hannibal. With his dogs.

But as he came downstairs one morning, stretching his arms over his head with a groan, he found Hannibal seated in a wingback chair with his legs crossed, and hands on the arms. Immediately his back straightened, his chin lifted, and Will’s heart raced.

Hannibal looked like a Master, like  _ Will’s _ Master, and god Will had missed him; he’d missed his merciless Dominant, his strong hand and his soft commands, and finally he was healthy enough to be enjoyed again.

No… to enjoy himself with Hannibal. Mutually.  _ Together. _

“Morning?” Will asked carefully as he approached on bare feet, his briefs snug against his hips.

“Good morning, Will,” Hannibal replied, voice warm. He smiled, and Will’s breath left him in a sigh. Without prompting he came closer and climbed into his lap.

Hannibal’s hands settled on Will’s waist, fingers toying with the waistband of Will’s shorts. He was barely wearing anything, and Hannibal’s suit pants felt soft against his skin. 

Hannibal’s lips traced the very edge of Will’s collar, back where it belonged now that he was better. He’d needed to take it off frequently during the medical testing, and every instance had been an exercise in suffering, his anxiety ratcheting up, as if he thought Hannibal might not put it back. 

Will tilted his head back on a sigh, welcoming the gentle tease of teeth against his carotid. 

“Beautiful boy,” Hannibal murmured, his voice rumbling down Will’s spine, “There is still the matter of your behavior last month.”

The moment shattered. Will’s stomach dropped, nausea twisting him into knots. He flinched, badly enough that he might have toppled from Hannibal’s lap had his Dom not had a firm grip on him.

“I’m sorry--” Will began, but before he could launch into yet another round of frantic apologies, Hannibal sealed a palm over his lips. Will could have leaned back, evaded the muffling and rambled to his heart’s content, but the serious expression on Hannibal’s face stopped him.

“I know you are,” Hannibal reminded him, tone gentle but firm. Beneath his palm, Will swallowed. “But I cannot let such behavior go unpunished, and I will not. You disobeyed me, and you lied, and in doing so you put yourself in danger. I will ensure you don’t do that again.”

Carefully, Will nodded, making sure he didn’t do it fast enough to dislodge Hannibal’s hand from his mouth. A moment longer, and Hannibal peeled his fingers free of Will’s mouth, stroking his knuckles down his cheek instead.

“Do you think your punishment is deserved?” He asked. Will kept his eyes on Hannibal’s as though he were hypnotised.

“Yes, Sir,” he said quietly. “I deserve to be punished for my misbehavior.”

“You do,” Hannibal agreed. “And you will be. Because I love you, and I want what is best for you.”

Will nodded again, cheeks burning.

“Tell me what your words are to use in scene.”

“Red to stop play, yellow to ease, green for everything is fine.”

“Good boy. And your personal safeword?”

Will frowned. He hated repeating it, and Hannibal made him do it, every time, before every scene.

“Quantico,” he whispered.

Red would stop a scene that overwhelmed him. That made him nervous enough. Will was still unused to that sort of power, not entirely sure he wanted it. If he had an option to stop, he had to deal with the realization that he didn’t  _ want _ to.

‘Quantico’, on the other hand, stopped  _ everything. _ ‘Quantico’ meant that Will was hurt, that his distress was too great, that they needed to put a halt to their dynamic and recover, and then sit down as equals to discuss what had gone wrong.

Will never,  _ ever _ wanted to do that. He didn’t think he was capable of it.

“And your non-verbal signs?” Hannibal added. Will blinked. They’d discussed them, but he rarely had to remember to use them. He held up a hand and clicked his fingers. Once, twice, thrice. Hannibal took his hand and kissed Will’s knuckles.

“I want you to kneel,” Hannibal said, gesturing towards the rug at his feet. “Just there, in proper posture. I have a few things to gather, and I want you to take this time to reflect.”

Will stood on shaking limbs, heart hammering in his chest. When he hooked his thumb in the waistband of his underwear, Hannibal reached out to still him.

“Those can stay,” he instructed, looking down at Will with a hungry look that left Will shivering. Will had no idea how he managed to seem so tall, but he felt very little indeed as he dropped into position.

He moved his knees about shoulder-width apart, straightened his back and set his hands to his thighs. Hannibal bent at the waist to kiss him.

“Just like that,” he praised.

Will had to resist the urge to turn his head as Hannibal passed him and moved deeper into the living room. He knew he was in trouble. He’d been anticipating it since they returned home, when he’d expected to be punished immediately. Anticipation had built but had bubbled at the bottom of his belly. Waiting, waiting…

Maybe Hannibal would whip him? Will had gotten used to a nightly spanking, and could take harsher implements, but he’d never been properly beaten before. He knew he wouldn’t be allowed to come so… maybe edging too? Hannibal did enjoy humiliating him…

Will jerked when he felt a hand in his hair again. Hannibal had returned and Will hadn’t even noticed, already floating between his safe space and reality from just sitting obediently for his Dominant.

“It’s alright, Will, we haven’t started yet. Would you like something to drink?”

Will realized his throat had gone incredibly dry. “Please,”

Hannibal held a glass in front of him. To Will’s amusement, there was a tiny bendy straw floating in it, fluorescent green. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen one- they made it easier for Hannibal to help him drink while bound- but they never stopped seeming hilariously out of place in Hannibal’s pretentious home. Will could never hold back a smile when he saw them. 

Will took a few deep sips of the glass, draining it about halfway in one go. Hannibal set it to the side, gentle hands rubbing at Will’s tense shoulders. 

“First things first,” Hannibal said softly, reaching for the padlock that held Will’s collar in place. Will flinched again, losing his perfect posture as he brought a hand up to shield his throat. 

The motion had been automatic, and shame at his disobedience overwhelmed Will automatically. He tilted his head up, looking at Hannibal with wide eyes. “I don’t,” he stammered, “I didn’t mean-”

Hannibal hushed him, gently guiding his hands back down towards his thighs. “Just for the scene,” he assured Will, “and I have something else to take its place. I wouldn’t leave you unmarked, sweet boy.”

Hannibal’s patience soothed Will like a balm. He nodded, tipping his head all the way back so Hannibal could once more tug at the padlock resting in the hollow of his throat.

True to his word, Hannibal had a replacement, a stiff, tall posture collar that made Will’s neck ache just to look at it. It laced up like a corset, and there would be no relief once it was in place. Will swallowed and tried not to hold his breath as Hannibal tightened the ribbons, constricting just enough to hone Will’s focus in on the way it held him, a constant caress keeping his gaze locked straight ahead. 

“Too tight?”

Will tried to shake his head, and couldn’t. He laughed instead, a helpless and breathless thing, and offered an answer verbally instead.

“No, Sir.”

“Are you scared?” Hannibal asked next, and Will closed his eyes and pursed his lips. He hated admitting weakness, it still stuck in his throat and choked him most of the time. He was meant to be the perfect submissive, he was meant to be able to take everything his Dom gave him…

“A little,” he admitted.

“Tell me why,” Hannibal said, stroking Will’s hair until he opened his eyes again and looked up.

“I’ve… you’ve never had to punish me for something so severe before.”

“Are you afraid I will be too harsh with you?”

“No!” Will blinked up at him, wide-eyed. “No… I… I’m afraid I won’t be good… I won’t--”

“I will give you exactly the punishment you need,” Hannibal assured him, if it was assurance, “to learn your lesson. Nothing harsher, nothing softer. You are my boy, and you will behave as such from now on. Yes?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And if something is too overwhelming you’ll tell me, won’t you?”

“Yes, Sir,” Will replied, quieter this time. Hannibal cupped his cheek.

“You will be perfect for me,” he told Will. “I know it. Now, hands behind your back.”

Will obeyed. Now he couldn’t look back at Hannibal regardless of how much he wanted to assure himself. He felt familiar warm hands rubbing his wrists gently and closed his eyes. Hannibal was very practiced in binding Will down, be it just his arms or his legs or his entire body. He was careful and precise and every knot and rope against his skin did exactly what Hannibal needed it to do. Will took a breath, released it, and felt Hannibal move his arms where he wanted them.

Will felt his briefs being tugged up, the fabric shifting tighter between his cheeks, and his hands guided through the legs to hold them even tighter still. It wasn’t comfortable but it wasn’t painful either. Will squirmed in place a little, until Hannibal landed a sharp slap against one bared cheek and he sat still again. He knew that his cock would be in stark relief against the light fabric, and that if he moved his hands even a little he’d cause himself more discomfort.

Just as Hannibal wanted.

When Will finally settled, Hannibal began to bind his hands in a familiar way, just with the strip of Will’s briefs in the middle of it all, effectively binding Will too and forcing his shoulders back and back straight if he wanted to achieve some modicum of comfort.

Eventually, he knew, there would be no comfort to be found. His limbs would begin to ache, straining at the ropes, and there would be a lingering soreness that lasted well into the next day.

But between one moment of pain and the next, a haze of comfort awaited him. A moment when the pain melted away, buried under the pleasure of behaving, the soft sweetness of subspace. Will could taste that moment on the tip of his tongue, even now. 

Hannibal went to work on Will’s legs next, binding him ankle to thigh, and then hooking a spreader bar between his knees. It left Will spread wide and uncomfortably still, the position dragging further at his briefs, digging the elastic into his skin. 

“Almost perfect,” Hannibal whispered, in a voice so soft that it was clearly not meant for Will. Sometimes Hannibal lost himself in the moment, too, and that thought alone had Will’s cheeks flushing, to be the focus of such pleased attention. 

Hannibal left Will’s side, fiddling with something just out of Will’s sight. He heard the tell-tale click of the gas fireplace, and then felt the building warmth at his back.

When Hannibal returned, he crouched low before Will, a pair of heavy black headphones in his hands. Will blinked, confused.

“I’m going to guide you,” Hannibal said, “and I will need you to be very obedient. Move where I put you, stay where I leave you. I don’t want you to hurt yourself by fidgeting, am I understood?”

Will felt his breathing pick up as he looked at the headphones. Of all the things Hannibal could have showed him, of all the amazing implements he owned, this scared Will the most. But he didn’t want to show that. He wanted to be good.

“Yes, Sir,” he managed.

“Good.” Hannibal met Will’s eyes as he adjusted the headphones before putting them over Will’s ears. Immediately, the world went silent. Or, more accurately, comforting sounds that Will was so used to having around him all the time were silenced. His own breathing, the beating of his heart, that was amplified to a volume that was almost  _ too _ loud.

“No,” Will said softly, the word echoing like a scream in his head. “No, please, take them off.”

Hannibal looked at Will but didn’t move to do anything. He didn’t remove the headphones. Will started to hyperventilate, his vision blurring in his panic.

“Please, Sir, please take them off, I want to hear you, I need to hear you, I need-- yell-yellow. Yellow!”

At that, Hannibal immediately removed the headphones and leaned close to press his forehead to Will’s. One hand cupped his cheek, the other set to Will’s chest and stroked there.

“Deep breaths, sweet boy, it’s alright. We won’t do that.”

“Please, please I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll… I’ll wear them--”

“No,” Hannibal told him. “No, Will, this punishment is to remind you of your place with me, that you defer to my judgement, not that I control you. I will not damage you for this exercise, or ever, Will. Not ever.”

Will’s breath left him in a ragged, shuddering burst. His next inhalation was tremulous, hesitant. 

“You want--” Will cut himself off, ducking his head at Hannibal’s pointed look. He had already learned that lesson: things that Hannibal wanted were not the same as necessities. Their relationship would survive if Will did not indulge every one of Hannibal’s whims.

Still, there was a lingering sense of failure, one that only eased when Hannibal pressed a kiss to the very corner of Will’s mouth. 

“Why do we do this, Will?”

“Genetics,” Will said, as if glib dismissiveness had ever once benefitted him in this relationship. Hannibal pulled back, not enough to leave Will without his warmth, but enough to stare him down with one eyebrow raised. “Because we want to,” Will amended, the confession difficult. “Because I want to belong to you, because I feel safer when you take care of me, because you feel safer when you know I’m cared for.”

“Exactly right,” Hannibal said, nuzzling their noses together. “And because I love you, and you love me.”

Will sighed and closed his eyes.  _ I love you. _ It still felt like a dream when he heard Hannibal say it, even though he felt, every time, that it was genuinely meant. It just seemed unreal that Will could have something like this,  _ someone _ like this.

“I love you,” Will repeated, and accepted the kiss Hannibal pressed to his lips, feather-light and chaste.

“No headphones,” Hannibal confirmed as he pulled away, deliberately setting them aside. “At least, not today. I will, however, put a blindfold on you.”

Will nodded, as though Hannibal needed permission. He closed his eyes before Hannibal could take his sight away, at once accepting and nervous.

“I want you to trust me.” Hannibal said as he fastened the silk with a careful knot at the back of Will’s head. “Trust that I know what you can handle, trust that I know what you need, trust that your punishment will fit your disobedience appropriately.”

“Yes, Sir,” Will replied. And god, those words still made him feel so… wanted. So safe.

“Mouth open,” Hannibal said, and Will immediately complied. Hannibal fit a spider gag on him and stepped back to admire Will, bound, blinded, and mute before him.

“Show me your safewords,” he prompted. Will clicked his fingers. Once, twice, thrice. Hannibal whispered praise against his hair before stepping away, further into the room, where Will couldn’t sense him.

Even without the headphones, Will’s heartbeat seemed much too loud. He could hear himself, his own breath, loud through the gag that held him open. He flushed at the thought; the picture he made must have been mortifying.

But whatever Will may have thought about his appearance, he knew he was exactly as Hannibal wanted him. That thought brought him some small measure of comfort, peace in a tumultuous moment of uncertainty. He took a breath, held it, then released it on a low sigh, ready for whatever came next.

Hannibal circled the room, watching the tension slowly leave Will’s body. He could not calm himself entirely; his body instinctively twitched whenever Hannibal allowed himself to take a heavier step against the rug. Still, he was as ready as he was going to get, as at peace as he ever was, and Hannibal was hungry for him.

Punishments could be stressful. They could stretch Will to his limit, bring tears to his eyes, take him apart to his most vulnerable core.

But when Will let go and allowed that, he was at his most relaxed, his most beautiful. The catharsis he found in it was a sight Hannibal would have spent his entire fortune to see. Even tear stained and sobbing, Will found a bliss in having Hannibal’s attention that Hannibal would have gladly taken him to every moment of every day.

One moment, however, would have to be enough to start. Hannibal carefully sat back down in his chair, settling a hand atop Will’s curls. He didn’t speak. Part of the exercise was meant to reestablish Will’s trust in him, to remind Will that Hannibal would always be there, watching his responses and ready to catch him if he fell. The headphones had been too much, but Hannibal intended to be as silent as Will could bear, and let him drift as his punishment played out. 

Often, getting Will to sit still was an exercise all in itself. He had to be in motion, always. Fidgeting, shifting, touching his hair, his face, his shirt, always moving, always busy. Getting him to be still had taken months of work on Hannibal’s part, and he couldn’t have been prouder of Will.

He stroked his curls, now, over and over, until he felt Will’s shoulders shift a little more forward, felt his body ease into a comfortable slouch. He allowed it. The punishment he had in mind for Will didn’t involve stillness, as such, nor good posture. The collar was there almost entirely for aesthetic reasons, and to help Will breathe when things started to get more difficult.

No, this punishment was about trust, and honesty. It was about understanding his dynamic and the importance of it in their lives together. It was about the loss of control, and Hannibal’s promise to take it up with the utmost care. It would be a very long day.

“Alright, Will,” he murmured, letting his nails draw gently over Will’s scalp until he shivered. “Let’s begin.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Hannibal’s hand settled in Will’s hair. “This is about trust,” he reminded Will, his grip tightening. “Trusting me to give you what you need and what you deserve. Allowing me to be the one that decides, not taking things into your own hands. Or lips, as it were.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief warnings for this chapter (it's all in the tags but some of y'all don't _read em_ , so just in casse): humiliation, desperation wetting, human furniture, facefucking, gags, crying.

The words slid over Will’s skin like a physical thing, like nails raking down his back, and he whimpered. He immediately missed Hannibal’s fingers in his hair when they slipped away, but couldn’t even turn his head to seek wordlessly for them. He could feel drool gathering against his bottom teeth and knew that any moment now it would drip free and down to the floor, making a mess.

Hannibal hated mess.

Yet somehow,  _ somehow, _ he loved Will Graham.

He listened to the sound of fabric shifting as Hannibal stood up and prepared himself.

But nothing came.

No slap across his face, or yank to his hair, not even a sound suggesting that Hannibal had merely left him there, footsteps fading away into the distance. Nothing. And that was almost worse. Will didn’t know what to expect, he’d never misbehaved so badly before, he’d never done something to warrant a true, lengthy punishment.

He knew by now that his previous experiences with ‘dominants’ were nothing like how Hannibal treated him, so he couldn’t, and wouldn’t, compare their understanding of punishment to what was to come so… he had no grounding, no foothold to even stabilize himself with.

And then he heard it.

He heard the unmistakable sound of Hannibal’s belt being undone, and whined pitifully through his gag. Hannibal’s laugh was a low and dangerous thing that hardly helped matters.

“You think I’ll whip you, terrible boy?” He asked. “You’d certainly enjoy that, wouldn’t you. Yet, after such misbehavior you’ve hardly earned it.”

Will whined again, unhappily this time. Pain was a rush, and Will had learned to relish it. He would fall so easily if Hannibal whipped him, they both knew it. Just the thought had heat building in Will, even though he knew it wasn’t going to happen. He craved Hannibal’s touch now, wanted everything he could give.

What Hannibal gave him was the head of his cock, smearing damp against Will’s cheek. Will couldn’t properly turn his head with the posture collar, but he tried, fighting the stiff fabric, seeking with his open mouth.

A laugh, not spiteful or cruel, but pleased. Hannibal’s hand settled in Will’s hair. “This is about trust,” he reminded Will, his grip tightening. “Trusting me to give you what you need and what you deserve. Allowing me to be the one that decides, not taking things into your own hands. Or lips, as it were.”

Will flushed, sure his cheeks were red with mortification. He stilled, allowing Hannibal to rub against him more, as if marking him, over his cheekbones, teasing over the cupid’s bow of his lips, dipping in between the gag just enough for Will to feel a nudge against his tongue and then back again before Will could even try to lick at him. 

He’d never been a patient man, and he wasn’t sure where to start. Letting go was always the hardest part. He could put himself in Hannibal’s hands easily now, but it was less easy to stop trying to guess where the game was going. 

For agonizing minutes, Hannibal teased him, pulling whines of frustration and need from Will’s throat until he finally settled, panting and helplessly horny. Only then did Hannibal allow Will to take his cock into his mouth.

If Will thought about it beyond the genuine  _ pleasure _ he took from warming Hannibal’s cock, this wasn’t a punishment so much as a slightly strenuous bondage session. That should have worried him, should have shot up red flags in regards to what to expect next since this was so… normal for them.

For a few blissful moments, Will forgot about the fact that he was trussed up in his underwear, that he was drooling copiously down his chin, that his knees were spread wide by a bar. He just floated, Hannibal’s cock heavy and thick against his tongue. This was heaven. This was Will’s safety. His cock hardened between his legs, restrained by his briefs, and he moaned.

“Good boy,” Hannibal praised him, fingers spreading through Will’s curls before he tightened his grip. “Stay still.”

Will had learned long ago, and with the wrong people, how to prepare himself for a thorough face fucking. He knew how to breathe, and when, how to hold his tongue, how to open his throat, how to sound  _ pretty. _ He knew that despite Hannibal’s assurances that he had no need for theatrics and play, he enjoyed watching Will perform this way for him.

Because they both loved it.

Because Will got just as much out of it as Hannibal did.

Hannibal didn’t fill Will’s mouth with come, though it was tempting. Instead, he pulled out and back, and held himself still as he spent over Will’s bare chest instead, marking him with hot pulses of pleasure. He watched Will, the way he trembled, the way his body already ached from the way he was tied, the way the collar stopped him from dropping his head without choking himself.

He was beautiful.

He was  _ remarkable. _

Hannibal put himself away before gently easing the gag out of Will’s mouth to let him catch his breath properly. When he held the glass and straw up to Will’s lips a moment later, Will obediently sucked, drinking the rest of the water.

“Color, sweet boy?”

“G-green,” Will rasped, throat raw from thorough use, just the way he and Hannibal both liked it. “But, Sir?”

“Ask,” Hannibal said, petting Will’s curls back in a reassuring gesture. 

“May I have a bit more water?”

Hannibal was glad he’d blindfolded Will. It was not quite the sensory deprivation he’d originally intended, but it meant that Hannibal’s answering smile went unseen. He poured another glass from the pitcher, allowing Will to nurse at it until half was gone, then set it within reach.

Crouching before Will, Hannibal cupped his face in his hands. “Fingers?” he asked. Will wriggled a moment. 

“Nothing’s asleep.”

“Good.” Hannibal let his hand slide over Will’s shoulder’s, resting over his spine. “Trust,” he reminded him, guiding him forward.

There was a moment where Will tensed, where every muscle stood out, straining as he tried to keep himself from toppling to the floor. Then he sucked in a breath and let go, gasping quietly when Hannibal caught him and guided him the rest of the way down, rather than letting him fall. 

Carefully, Hannibal arranged Will, a small pillow under his forehead to keep him from chafing against the rug, braced on his knees, slanted but enough of a platform for Hannibal to settle into his chair and rest his feet. 

Will made a tiny helpless sound and tried to shift. It was a difficult position to hold, with the way his neck was braced and his legs were tied; three points of his body touched the floor and supported not only his weight but the weight of Hannibal’s feet.

He heard Hannibal turn a page in his book and bit his lip.

This was hard, but it was  _ punishment, _ that was the  _ point. _ Hannibal had already made concessions with the headphones, Will wouldn’t ask him for more now.

But minutes crawled as he held his position, sweat pooling on his back, between his collarbones, dripping from his temples down his cheeks.

Another page.

“Sir?”

“Yes, Will?”

“Sir, it hurts.”

Hannibal lifted his feet from him immediately, and slid an arm across Will’s chest to ease him back up into a sitting position again. Will leaned against him, panting, sweating, shaking with the strain. He knew he was crying, too, but the blindfold soaked the tears up enough that they didn’t slip free. He nuzzled Hannibal’s shoulder as he caught his breath.

“Color?”

“Green, Sir,” Will mumbled. “That was hard… that was… I’m sorry.”

“I know you are, sweet boy,” Hannibal stroked his hair from his face and cupped his cheek. “I know. Drink some water for me, we’re not done yet.”

Will drank greedily, finishing the cup off in moments. Between the tears and the sweat cooling on his skin, he felt impossibly parched.

“Do we need to consider a new position, or was this merely a break?” Hannibal asked, pressing the question into Will’s temple as he held him close. ‘We.’ Because this was not only about Hannibal, because Will had a say in this, in how much he could take, or was  _ willing  _ to take.

He could have ended it right there. He could have said “I’ve been punished enough,” and Hannibal would have agreed, and untied him, and given him a nice hot bath and a massage to soothe his aching limbs.

But Will didn’t want that. He wanted the catharsis that came with seeing this through to the end. He wanted to put himself entirely at Hannibal’s mercy and see where he took them.

“I can do it,” Will decided firmly. “I might need breaks, is that okay?”

“Of course,” Hannibal said, shifting until he could press a kiss to the center of Will’s forehead, where all the pressure had rested. 

Will was guided down thrice more, and every time he lasted a little shorter than the time before as his body grew exhausted and his limbs shook. And every time, Hannibal stroked his hair, and kissed his face, and offered him water and assurance.

Will was so deep into subspace that hearing had started to go a little; everything sounded like it was filtered through a bad speaker. He had to ask Hannibal to repeat himself.

“What’s your color, sweet boy?” Hannibal patiently said once more. He tucked his fingers beneath Will’s chin to monitor his pulse. “We might need to stop--”

“No,” Will shook his head, “no, I’m okay, I’m alright, I can do this. I deserve… deserve this punishment.”

“You’re doing so well, lovely boy.” Hannibal continued counting, eyes on the clock’s second hand as Will’s heart beat quick against his fingertips. “Not long now. Your color please.”

“Yellow? I need to just sit for a bit, I just…” Will was prepared for Hannibal to dip him down again, to have to hold his agonizing position once more, but instead, Hannibal removed his blindfold. Will blinked owlishly, trying to get things into focus. Hannibal cupped his face and smiled at him.

“Is that better?”

Will nodded, groggy, high on all of this,  _ floating. _ This couldn’t be a punishment? Just some discomfort -- that was more than mild, to be fair, but not unbearable -- and dizziness? He licked his lips and swallowed, and Hannibal held the glass up to his lips again. Will took a sip before shaking his head no, he didn’t want any more. Hannibal insisted. With a sigh, Will finished that glass up, too.

The water was cool, he could feel it moving down his throat, sloshing in his stomach. It helped clear his head a little. Hannibal’s eyes narrowed, just a touch, just a little, and his entire expression changed, warmed, with a smile that didn’t stretch his lips.

“Just sit for a while,” he said. “We have time.”

Will nodded, found his center again, and knelt as Hannibal left him to sit back in his chair, taking his book up again.

Time passed, Will wasn’t sure how much, but when he looked up at Hannibal again, he hadn’t moved from his position. Will cleared his throat a little.

“Hannibal?”

“Hmm?”

“I uh, I need to go to the bathroom.”

Hannibal flicked his gaze up from his book to consider Will a moment, and then he looked away again, as though the words hadn’t even registered. Will blinked, brows furrowing a little.

“Sir?”

“I heard you,” Hannibal replied, turning a page.

Will blinked. He still felt hazy, too much so to fully process. Too much to understand.

A few minutes. Maybe Hannibal was enjoying his chapter, though Will couldn’t fathom how interesting a book could be right now. Will shifted on his knees, or tried to. There was no give in the way he was bound, and shifting dug the waistband of his briefs into his lower belly.

It wasn’t  _ urgent _ , exactly, though it would be soon. Will could wait a few more minutes, endure the budding discomfort. He closed his eyes, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth.

Pages flipped, one at a time, slow, soft. Will had  _ almost  _ recaptured that drifting feeling when Hannibal closed his book and set it aside. Will blinked up at him with relief.

Hannibal picked up the pitcher from the side table and poured another glass of water. Pieces began to slot into place.

When the straw tapped against Will’s lips, he took it between them only because he was gaping in horror.

“Drink,” Hannibal commanded, and Will was so well trained that he took three full gulps before he could manage a protest.

“It’s going to hurt,” he said, realization heavy in his chest. “I’m not sure how long I can wait.”

“It will feel uncomfortable,” Hannibal agreed, “But you’ll wait as long as I tell you to wait."

Will swallowed, sucked his lower lip into his mouth, and just watched Hannibal. Hannibal watched him back. Then he held the glass out again.

"No, thank you."

"Drink."

"I can't--"

"You can," Hannibal told him, fingers gentle beneath his chin, lifting it just a little higher than the collar held it. "Slowly."

Will obeyed, because he didn't know what else to do. It didn't even occur to him to call a stop to it, this was  _ punishment _ . 

"That's my good boy," Hannibal praised him, stroking Will's face. Then he stood up and returned to his seat, taking his time making himself comfortable, deliberately filling the glass again.

He gave Will a slow once-over, and hummed, taking his book up once more.

Will made a sound, somewhat disgruntled, a little confused, and tried to shift again. The only thing he could realistically do was tug his briefs a bit tighter against his cock, the pressure helping a little, if only in theory.

He just had to get through this. He just had to take his earned punishment like a good boy, and he'd be forgiven.

He didn't realize he'd whimpered until Hannibal said his name.

"Please let me go to the bathroom?" he asked softly. Hannibal shook his head.

"Not yet."

"I really… I'm really… please?"

"I know," Hannibal told him. "I said no."

In through the nose, out through the mouth. Will sucked in slow, steady breaths, trying to ease the tight discomfort that had twisted into the pit of his stomach. The pressure against his cock was no longer helping, the waistband of his underwear digging a sensitive stripe right across his bladder. 

Counting breaths was normally a way for Will to zone out, but this time, he was aware of each and every one. He couldn’t turn off his brain, on red alert waiting for Hannibal’s attention to return to him. 

When it did, he wished it hadn’t. 

“Please,” Will begged, as the straw prodded at his lips again. “God, I’m already so full.”

“A little more,” Hannibal insisted. Will swallowed, tiny sips at first, then resigned gulps when Hannibal insisted he drink the whole cup. Better to get it over with quickly. 

“I think you’re ready for a new position,” Hannibal decided. Will winced. 

“How much longer?”

Hannibal looked him over, one eyebrow raised. Will ducked his eyes, cheeks pink. 

“How much longer, Sir?”

“Until I say,” Hannibal replied unhelpfully. “Fingers?”

Will stretched them. “They’re fine,” he replied, tone strained.

“Good. I’m going to put you on your back. As soon as you feel any discomfort there, you let me know.”

“Yes, Sir,” Will sounded miserable. He felt miserable. This was just embarrassing. He’d never had this problem with scenes before, and he’d had water during scenes before. Maybe the punishment was making Will wait? It didn’t feel great, and his body was exhausted and--

Hannibal guided Will to lay back, careful to make sure his hands weren’t twisted beneath him, that his head was resting on a pillow to make sure he wasn’t bending it back painfully, with the collar in place.

Will’s knees were spread obscenely wide, and he could see down the length of his body with the way he was positioned. It didn’t help matters at hand, however. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe slowly again. He heard Hannibal stepping around him, adjusting something, but not touching him. And then he sat down in the chair again, magnanimous and beautiful, and set his feet, crossed, to Will’s belly.

“No, no!” Will tensed every muscle in his body, his bladder screaming for release. “No, please, not there!”

“Lay still.”

“I can’t, I can’t!” Will was trembling. He would not wet himself during a scene, for fuck’s sake! “Yellow! Yellow-yellow-yellow,”  _ not yellow not yellow! _ “stop Hannibal stop!”

Hannibal removed his feet from Will’s stomach, but he didn’t untie him. He reached down to stroke over his chest instead, easy, smooth touches to try to get Will to relax, despite the fact that his entire body was quivering.

“What can’t you do?” Hannibal asked him. Will turned to him with a helpless look.

“I don’t know how long I can hold on,” Will admitted. “I really,  _ really, _ need to go, Hannibal,  _ please _ .”

“I know,” Hannibal told him, moving his hand to cup Will’s cheek instead, stroking there. “This will go on only as long as you let it, sweet boy. It’s in your hands to make it stop.”

“I don’t wanna use my word when it’s a  _ punishment, _ I--” but then it hit him, the cold, terrifying realization of what Hannibal meant.

“No,” he said, and his eyes were wet, then leaking, tears spilling over, “no, I can’t.”

Hannibal slid to his knees on the floor, as if he  _ wasn’t  _ wearing immaculately pressed slacks. He bent over, pressing his forehead to Will’s. “It is not my intention to cause you undo distress,” he said firmly. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” Will said, but reluctantly. He couldn’t. He couldn’t offer what Hannibal was asking of him. 

“Do you trust me to stop if something will harm you?”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Do you trust me to stop if you  _ ask  _ me to?”

Will’s eyes searched Hannibal’s, frantic and wide. He knew, he  _ knew _ that should he say his word, ask to stop, then it would stop. It would all stop and he’d be allowed to get up and use the bathroom and come back to himself.

He knew that.

“Yes, Sir,” Will whispered. “But I… I don’t… I don’t want to use the word,”

Hannibal pulled away just far enough to kiss Will’s forehead, lingering and loving, before moving to meet his eyes again.

“Then trust me,” he replied.

Will whimpered, then sobbed, closing his eyes tight and biting his lip so hard it went pale, as his body squirmed and ached, desperation mounting and humiliation threatening to overwhelm Will where he lay.

Hannibal moved his hand down to Will’s stomach again and very gently added pressure, enough that Will cried out and tried to shake his head, the collar preventing him from moving much.

“God, oh my God,” he groaned, toes curling and spreading again. “Don’t, don’t, I can’t -- ah!”

Hannibal removed his hand and set it to Will’s chest instead, over his racing heart. “Beautiful boy,” he praised him. “You’re doing so well.”

Will struggled for another two minutes, a feat of strength he didn’t even know he was capable of, before his body just  _ couldn’t _ anymore. When Hannibal set his hand to Will’s belly again, he let go, sobbing in humiliation as he did, making a mess of his briefs, of his stomach, the rug beneath him.

He’d had a fleeting hope that he might be able to hold out, that he would impress Hannibal with his resistance, but instead he was bawling on the floor in his own filth. Hannibal’s hand pressed a little harder, pressure increasing steadily until Will had given all he could, and it was more of a soothing anchor than an agonizing pain. 

“There we go,” Hannibal said over Will’s shuddering sobs, rubbing over his bare stomach. “That’s it. Let go. I have you.”

Will went completely limp, held only by ropes and the bar between his knees, his own muscles no longer willing to support him. The acrid liquid was cooling unpleasantly on his skin, impossible to ignore, to forget. 

Hannibal waited until there was no fight left in Will, until his breathing changed from ragged gasps to slow hiccups, and then he slowly began to cut through the ropes. Will collapsed against the floor, whimpering at the wetness he rested in. 

“I’m, I’m,” words failed Will, but it was alright. Hannibal had enough for the both of them. 

“You’re beautiful,” he assured Will, massaging feeling back into his arms. “And obedient. You did exactly what I wanted you to. My perfect boy.”

Will just started to cry again, hands pressing to his eyes as he trembled. He was overwhelmed, humiliated, exhausted, sore, and Hannibal’s praise warmed him like a balm. He didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know what his feelings were doing, but his mind was… blank. Blissfully blank.

He rolled to the side as Hannibal guided him, caught his breath as the collar was loosened then removed entirely, and tucked his face against Hannibal’s knees. He didn’t want to get him dirty, but he couldn’t not be touching him right then. Without Hannibal, he’d float away, be gone entirely, lost to the world.

“Will?”

Will blinked up at him, hazy and helpless. Hannibal cupped his cheeks and leaned in to kiss him.

“I have never been more proud of you,” he whispered, nosing at Will before letting him go. “You took your punishment so well, so bravely. All is forgiven. Let me take care of you.”

“But I’m--”

“Hush,” Hannibal stood, and bent to take Will up in his arms, hushing him again when Will tried to protest the mess, Hannibal’s  _ suit-- _ “I’ve got you. I’m not letting you go.”

And that was the crux of it, Will thought vaguely as Hannibal carried him upstairs to the master bathroom. Hannibal didn’t care that Will was a mess, that he was imperfect, that he was a goddamn disaster. He didn’t care. He cared that Will reached out to him, that he was truthful, that he was vulnerable, that he was Hannibal’s own. The rest was smoke and mirrors.

**Author's Note:**

> The idea is that everyone is a Dom or sub by nature, some express it more than others but everyone has a dynamic -- this usually hits at puberty. It is part of your natural biology and you have to express yourself in that dynamic or it's genuinely bad for your health. We make mention of clinics but don't go into detail, but the idea is basically either a Dominant or a submissive suffering from dynamic withdrawal go into a care clinic where they can express themselves properly. It's not seen as kinky or weird, it's just how it is. There's also an implication that Dominants can kill their submissives by neglecting them, though that's very specific cases and we go into them (possibly) later on. Will mentions some of his cases that cover this though.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Glimmer of Hope](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29295882) by [NataFreak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NataFreak/pseuds/NataFreak)




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